


Synergy

by aroseofstone (Adams1422)



Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adams1422/pseuds/aroseofstone
Summary: Alec Hardy and Hannah Baxter meet by chance when she arrives at the Trader’s Hotel in Broadchurch. They both go their separate ways despite hitting it off, since they’ve declared themselves officially done with relationships.A break in and robbery in Hannah’s hotel room throws them back together. They both find that life seems a bit easier with the other in their corner. Will they be able to resist the feelings they claim to be done with?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thank you so much for clicking on this story! Man, let me tell you, this is as much of a shock to me as it is to you! I've always loved reading stories about this pairing, but I definitely never thought I'd be writing one of my own! 
> 
> This is a multichapter (as I'm sure you've noticed) and I'm already cracking on chapter two! I'm really excited about this journey, and I hope you take it with me. 
> 
> A HUGE thanks to Britt for staying up way too late to look this over for me. You're the best beta and friend anyone could ever ask for. (Also I did fiddle with it a bit after she looked at it, so any mistakes are my own!)

“Okay, Dais, I’ll see you in a month,” Alec says. He leans down to press a kiss against his daughter’s forehead and hands over her rucksack.

“And you promise that while I’m gone you’re not just gonna sit in that house all by yourself, right? Because I really could stay –”

“No, no,” he interrupts. He places a hand on her shoulder and looks her in the eye. She’s more anxious about this trip than she has been letting on, he knows. “I’ll go out with Miller at least once a week like I promised. Dunno how thrilled she’s gonna be about this arrangement. Did you discuss it with her? Because I didn’t.”

“Dad, Ellie is constantly trying to get you to do things. She’ll be just fine with it. If she doesn’t have a heart attack the first time you offer, that is.” Daisy chuckles. Her posture relaxes just a bit and his hand falls from her shoulder. “And what else are you gonna do?”

Alec groans, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. He had hoped she would have forgotten about their second promise. In exchange for Daisy staying an extra few weeks with her mother, Alec had promised to meet at least one _new friend_ while she’s away. He dutifully repeats his promise to her now.

“That’s right,” she says, sounding for all the world like a proud mother sending her wee boy off on his first day of school. If it were anyone else, it would really grate on his nerves.

“Don’t worry about me. Have a good time with your mum,” Alec says. He tries not to show just how desperately he’s going to miss her. Daisy deserves to have a nice summer with her mother and he knows that at the slightest sign of discomfort from him, she’ll rip up her train ticket (a move she learned from him, no less).

“I will,” she says with a nod. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you more, Dais.”

She turns around and sets off for her train compartment, glancing back once to give him a little wave. He waves back with a grin and watches until she gets on the train.

__________

Alec pushes the door of the Trader’s open and steps inside. Night one, he figures he might as well start off on the right foot.

He grunts a hello to Becca Fisher and orders himself a whiskey. As usual, the pub is pretty empty, so his drink is up in no time. Alec takes a small sip. Savours it. He’ll make it last. The memory of how empty his house feels without Daisy’s warmth and light creeps up on him, chilling his bones.

“Any interesting cases down at WP?” Becca asks, pulling him from his haze. Alec holds back a sigh and fixes her with an impatient look.

“Even if there were, I couldn’t tell you about them,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. Becca lifts her hands and takes a step back.

“Sure,” she says. “Just didn’t know what else to talk about with you. Do you do anything besides work and sleep?”

“Who says I sleep?” Alec asks. He’s always liked that line, even if it is a little dramatic. Before Becca can retort, the door opens behind him with a soft ‘whoosh’ and someone steps inside.

“Welcome to the Trader’s Hotel,” Becca says brightly. A smile instantly takes over her whole face as she goes into full customer service mode. Alec doesn’t bother turning around to see who’s walked in, but from that tone he knows it’s someone who isn’t from around here.  “Broadchurch’s best hotel and pub.”

“Best or only?” asks a lilting London accent. Alec breathes a laugh as Becca’s smile falters just a smidge.

“Best _and_ only,” she recovers. “Everyone else knew they couldn’t beat us out, so they figured they wouldn’t bother trying.”

The stranger laughs and pulls out the barstool one down from him, leaving a space in between them. Alec silently thanks the stars for this. There’s almost nothing worse than a total stranger sitting on the stool right next to you when there are plenty to choose from. It scrapes across the dark hardwood floor. She takes her seat and Alec finally looks over at her. From the side, her wavy blonde hair covers her whole face. He’s always had a bit of a thing for blondes, if he’s honest. Not that it matters. Alec Hardy is done with romance and having things for people no matter how many times Daisy tries to get him to download that app again.

“Could I get a beer, please?” she asks, a big smile in her voice. Alec finds himself thinking that she has a nice voice, down-to-earth and kind.

“Bottle or draught?” Becca responds.

“Draught, of course.”

“You got it.” Becca smiles and turns to fill a glass to the brim quickly. She puts it down on the counter in front of the stranger. After she murmurs a ‘thank you’, Becca nods and retreats to the other side of the bar so she can start wiping it down.

When the woman turns to face him, every thought in his mind grinds to a halt. The only thing resounding through his head is that she’s the most beautiful person he has ever seen. She has high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. She gives him a soft little smile and his heart stutters in his chest. He looks away quickly, staring down into his drink. Thank God he’s got a pacemaker now, otherwise just looking at this woman might have literally killed him.

“Sorry,” she says in his direction. His gaze snaps back over to her. “Have we met before?”

“Oh, ah, no,” he mutters with a shake of his head. He’s positive he would remember meeting someone as… someone who looks like her.

“No, I swear we have,” she says. She turns a little, facing her body towards his. Scoots her barstool a little closer. Her face scrunches up with concentration, her tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth. Alec swallows hard. “Have you ever been to London?”

“Once or twice,” he says with an attempt at a casual shrug. Just to have something to do with his hands, he finishes off his drink in one long drag. It warms his throat, burning a trail all the way down to his stomach before buzzing through his bloodstream.

“No, that’s not it,” she says. She keeps staring at him. It feels like she’s scrutinising his entire being. Alec fidgets a little on his seat and contemplates throwing a £20 note on the table and bolting right now, sod his promise to Daisy and lonely house.

Before he has the chance to decide, the woman snaps victoriously and spins to face him completely.

“You’re the worst copper in Britain!” she exclaims, a huge smile lighting up her face. “Alec Hardy!”

“What did you say?” Alec asks, bewildered. As it dawns on her, a light flush creeps up her neck and the smile slides off her face.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry –”

“People aren’t usually so forward about it,” Alec interrupts. He’s fighting down a chuckle. The sheer mortification on her face makes it more than clear that she doesn’t mean what she said at all. He can’t help but tease her about it. “Usually they wait until I’ve left the room to call me shitface.”

“DI Hardy, I’m so sorry,” she repeats. Her hands fly from her glass to grasp his forearm. He tenses up beneath her touch but makes no move to dislodge her. “I didn’t mean that. I just… I’ve read all about you. All the amazing work you’ve done and the people you’ve helped. And then I called you the worst cop in Britain right to your face.”

Finally, Alec lets her off the hook when a gravelly laugh escapes him. “It’s fine. You’d be surprised at the things people have said to me after that article.”

“It is not _fine_ ,” she responds, her grip tightening just a little. “Please, let me buy you a drink to make up for it.”

“No, really,” he protests. He gently lifts his arm, dislodging her at last, and places his hand in his pocket.

“Please, I’ll feel awful until you let me make it up to you,” she says. She fixes him with those wide eyes, pleading. That look combined with the memory of his promise to Daisy quickly wears down his resolve. He heaves a sigh.

“Alright… but just one drink,” he mutters, looking away.

“Thank you! Excuse me, one more whiskey for DI Hardy, on my tab, please,” she says to Becca. Becca lifts an eyebrow at Hardy as she refills his drink, but doesn’t comment.

“Let’s go sit somewhere a little more private,” she suggests. Alec opens his mouth to protest, but she snatches his drink up and saunters over to a little table in the corner before he can even get started. With another heavy sigh, he gets up from his stool and follows after her.

“I’m Hannah, by the way,” she says as they sit down. She places his drink back in front of him and takes a sip from her own still-full beer.

“You can call me Hardy,” Alec says out of habit. Why this gorgeous woman would want to call him anything at all is lost on him. Guilt, he guesses.

“Hardy, huh? Hardboiled copper who only goes by his last name. Very mysterious,” she says with a little grin. Alec laughs a little. He decides not to tell her that the real reason he goes by Hardy is that he’s always hated the combination of vowels in his given name. Not to mention that every time someone says it the memory of his father snarling it his whole life reverberates through his head. The only person he’d ever been able to stomach saying it was Tess, and that was only because she refused to call her own boyfriend (and later, husband) by his last name.

He also doesn’t mention the fact that he very nearly told her she could call him by his first name. He can’t explain it, there was just something about the way she said it earlier. She softened the vowels somehow, almost caressing them. The opposite of his father (and Tess, later in their marriage).

“How’d you know I was drinking whiskey?” he asks, suddenly remembering that she’d ordered his drink without asking what it was.

“What else would a hardboiled detective be drinking at five in the evening?” she responds with a delicately arched eyebrow.

“Fair enough,” he mutters. After a few beats of silence, he speaks up again. “So what brings you to Broadchurch?”

“Needed a bit of a holiday,” she says simply.

“A holiday to Broadchurch? The tourism industry isn’t what it once was here.”

“Just picked the first little beach town I saw on a map,” Hannah admits. “Bit of sun, bit of sand. And it’s far away from home. That’s the only real requirement I had for my holiday spot.”

“Aye, I can understand that,” Alec says. Much the same reason he’d said yes to the DI position at Wessex in the first place, after all. She props her cheek against her fist and studies him some more.

“I’m sure you can,” Hannah responds. Her tone makes it seem like she really has read all about him. Good and bad. It makes him squirm a bit. It’s a funny thing, people you’ve never met knowing about your greatest defeats.

There’s something about her, though. He can’t shake the feeling that she really does believe he’s done some good in the world. Like she’s weighed everything she read about him and not found him wanting. There’s a warmth in her eyes, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. Her eyes roam over his face, down his chest. She bites her bottom lip every now and then. He hasn’t been looked at that way in a very long time. It warms his chest even more than the whiskey he’s been drinking. Makes him feel a little bolder, a little more open. A voice in the back of his mind reminds him of the danger of letting anyone into his life, but he ignores it. Just for now.

“What do you do?” Alec asks.

“I’m a writer,” Hannah says with a little shrug, nonchalant. There’s a glint in her eye that interests him, though.

“Ah, really? What do you write?” he asks. He takes another sip from his drink while he waits for her answer.

“Erotic novels,” Hannah says, casual as can be. For all the world like she’s just told him she’s an accountant. Alec chokes on his whiskey, coughing and sputtering as he slams the glass back down on the table.

Hannah laughs out loud, a startled sound, and claps her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Great. _Very sexy, Hardy._ So much for that newfound boldness.

“Here,” Hannah says through her hand, passing a few napkins over his way. She takes a deep breath and drops her hand from her face. “Sorry. That was the best reaction I’ve ever gotten.”

“No, I’m… ehm… sorry,” Alec grabs the napkins and dabs at his damp button down, a bright red blush heating his cheeks and ears. He doesn’t remember the last time he blushed, and he certainly isn’t thrilled to be doing it again at the age of forty-five.

“God, I’m going to owe you so many drinks before I leave this town,” Hannah says. Before he knows what’s happening, they’re both cracking up. A full-on belly laugh like Alec hasn’t done in years. He can’t explain it; there’s just something so freeing about Hannah’s presence. Her laughter washes over him, fills the room, high and clear. He’s tempted to call it a giggle. The hanging lamp above them lights up her eyes and allows him to truly see them for the first time. They’re a light hazel, flecks of green and brown intermingling to make a unique colour, almost impossible to describe.

After a bit, they calm back down, the flush leaves his face, and Hannah fixes him with a look that he doesn’t quite understand. More scrutinising, but he doesn’t know what for. He swears she glances at his lips once or twice, but he doesn’t linger on the thought. No need to allow that to fester.

“So, DI Hardy,” Hannah murmurs. “Are you working on anything interesting right now?”

“Please, just call me Hardy,” he says. “We haven’t had a big case come through in a few months, actually. Back to the normal quiet of Broadchurch. People robbing tanks of diesel from tractors and getting a bit too rowdy at the pub.”

“I imagine that’s welcome after all your team has been through in the last few years,” Hannah says.

“Aye,” Alec says, opting not to delve any deeper into the subject. The last thing he wants to do is drag the conversation with the undeniable pain his team has suffered since Danny Latimer was found on that beach.

“Probably gets a bit boring after a while, though, doesn’t it?” Hannah says with a little gleam in her eye.

“Think I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime,” Alec responds, shaking his head. Enough excitement to nearly kill him more times than he can count, that is. He keeps that detail to himself.

“Maybe you just need some of the good kind of excitement,” Hannah offers. She takes another sip from her glass. Alec’s cheeks heat up again at the implication lying beneath her words.

“Ah, no,” he mutters, unsure why he’s even giving voice to this rather than letting it pass. “I’ve given up on that sort of thing.”

“What, sex?” Hannah asks. Alec chokes again, this time on nothing but air. Thankfully that means he doesn’t need another round of napkins. Hannah bites back a grin, mirth dancing in her eyes.

“No, er… all of it. Dating and erm, everything,” he mutters.

“Right,” Hannah says, relaxing back against her seat. “I have too. No one can handle me. Much easier to just be on my own. Less heartache for every party that way.”

Alec has no trouble believing that this woman is a lot to handle. But from his initial assessment, she also seems like the definition of _worth it_. He shakes that thought from his head.

“Just think my time for romance and all has passed,” he admits with a little shrug.

“Oh, you aren’t that old,” Hannah insists.

“Don’t think it’s a matter of age,” Alec says. “More experience. The whole thing’s been spoilt.”

“I feel you there,” Hannah says. She doesn’t ask for details about why he feels the way he does, and for that he’s grateful. His gut tells him that she has no interest in answering the same questions in return, which is fine by him. No need to dredge up the past. He’d rather move forward and focus on the things he’s actually good at: solving cases and trying to be the father Daisy deserves. She finishes off her beer at the same time that Alec takes the last sip of his whiskey.

“Well, I’d better be off,” he says, placing his glass down gently. Something inside of him actually wants to stay longer. Get another round. And the fear of that very feeling, deep in his gut, is what makes him decide to leave then and there.

“Oh, are you sure?” Hannah asks. Her shoulders fall a little, and she actually sounds disappointed. He doesn’t let himself think about that.

“Work in the morning, after all,” he says. His chair creaks as he gets up gingerly and picks up his glass. “See you ’round.”

“Wait,” Hannah says, standing up suddenly. He stops where he is, tilting his head. She rummages around in her purse for a few seconds before coming up with a pen and a scrap of paper. She scrawls her name a phone number down on it and shoves it at him.

“Oh, I, erm,” Alec stutters. The little paper is burning a hole in his palm. Opposing instincts battle in his mind. One says to throw it down and run out of there as quickly as he can. The other pleads for him to memorise the number instantly. He goes for a nice middle ground of gaping at her like a fish.

“I don’t know anyone here, after all,” Hannah says. She gives him that soft little smile again, tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth and his decision is made. He nods and mutters one last goodbye before rushing over to the bar to pay his tab, still gripping the piece of paper tight in his fist.

“I’ll pay for Hannah’s as well,” Alec says to Becca, as he sets his glass down in front of her. Then he digs out his wallet from his coat pocket and grabs his debit card. While his wallet is out, he tucks the little scrap of paper safely into one of the card slots. He can see a smart comment brewing in Becca’s mind, but the glare he cuts her makes her snap her mouth shut and run his card without a word.

__________

Alec walks home, the cool night air filling his lungs but not doing as much as he’d like to clear his head. He doesn’t really know what just happened. Were they flirting? Just chatting? Should he call her? Do people still call people? He’s so useless with every kind of human interaction. A friend once told him that he wouldn’t know someone was flirting with him even if they stripped down in front of him. But Hannah said herself that she’s over romance. And he is too. So what is there to stress over? So what if her laugh makes him feel freer than he’s felt in years, or if she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in real life?

As he’s working himself into a bit of a frenzy, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He snatches it out and answers without looking at the screen.

“Hardy,” he barks.

“Hey, Dad,” Daisy says, a smile in her voice.

“Oh, hey darling,” Alec says, tone softening instantly.

“Can you FaceTime right now?” she asks.

“Ah, I’m walking home. I can when I get there if you want,” he offers.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Daisy says. “I was just letting you know I’m here and all settled in. Where are you walking home from?”

“Just the Trader’s,” he says, purposely avoiding mentioning his interaction with Hannah. He guesses she hears something else in his voice, because she immediately questions him.

“Oh, did you go with Ellie?” she asks. For a moment, he genuinely thinks about lying to her. But he can’t.

“No, I didn’t go with anyone,” he says. Technically not a lie. But she catches it, of course.

“Did you _meet_ someone?” she asks, her eyebrows practically at her hairline.

“Daisy…” Alec says.

“Oh my god, you were totally with someone,” she says, then her voice cuts off. A second later, a familiar beeping sounds in his ear. A FaceTime. He sighs and answers it, coming to a halt on the pavement. Daisy’s face pixelates into view. She’s lit by a soft lamplight and he can tell that she’s in her old bedroom. There’s a muted clanging in the background, likely Tess finishing up dinner.

“Look at you! Who was it? That same girl who you saw before?” she asks. The look of pure joy on her face almost makes this embarrassing interaction worth it.

“No, it didn’t work out with her, I told you,” he says.

“Who, then? Someone else from Tinder?” He knows that she’s going to keep pressing until she gets the answers she wants, but he can’t stop himself from trying to shut the conversation down as quickly as possible.

“I deleted that app a month ago, I told you,” he mutters.

“Ugh, Dad, how many times do I have to tell you? You’ve got to put yourself out there! You’re too good of a bloke to be alone for the rest of your life just because Mum treated you the way she did.”

“I’m just not interested in all that stuff anymore, Dais,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve got you and my work and that’s enough for me.”

“I won’t be around forever, Dad,” Daisy warns. It isn’t malicious, just a statement of fact that brings his heart plummeting into his shoes. “I’ll be off to Uni before we know it and then you’ll be back where you were. All alone in a city you hate.”

“Let’s not talk about that just now,” Alec requests. He can hardly bear the thought of losing her again so soon after getting her back.

“Okay, let’s talk about whoever you had drinks with at the Trader’s, then,” Daisy retorts with a smug little grin. He groans, but her expression doesn’t change.

“It wasn’t a planned thing,” he says, still hedging. Daisy rolls her eyes at him.

“What’s her name?”

“Hannah,” he says without thinking.

“Aw, that’s a nice name. She must be pretty,” Daisy decides with a little nod. He can hear her mum calling her to dinner in the background.

“You can’t tell if someone is pretty based on their name,” he protests.

“Maybe not, but the way you’re still squirming right now is a strong giveaway.”

“I am not squirming,” Alec argues, rubbing one hand across his scruffy cheek.

“Sure you aren’t, Dad,” Daisy says. “If it wasn’t planned, how did it happen?”

“She called me the worst cop in Britain,” Alec says. He has to hold back a laugh at the mere memory of Hannah’s face when she’d realised what she said. Daisy’s jaw drops open, her forehead creasing in rage.

“And you had drinks with her?” she demands. “What kind of chat-up line is that? Dad, you need better standards –”

“She didn’t mean it,” he says, cutting her off with a shrug. “And it wasn’t a chat-up line. She thought she recognised me, and it turns out it was from that article from a few years ago. We had a drink so she could apologise.”

“Hmm… and she was nice?” Daisy’s expression has softened a little after his explanation.

“Didn’t your mum just call you for dinner?” Alec asks.

“Did you get her number?” she pursues. Alec pauses just a little too long and Daisy gets her answer from that. “You did! Are you going to call her?”

“Darling, please let it drop,” he begs. She finally takes pity on him.

“Okay, I’ve got to go eat, anyway,” she says. “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too,” Alec says. “Tell your mum hi from me.”

“Only if you call Hannah!” Daisy says.

Before he can answer, she ends the call. Alec finishes his walk home, his head swirling with possibilities.

_________

He arrives home and takes a quick shower, just pulling on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and collapsing onto his bed. His wallet and phone are on top of his bedside table, taunting him. Daring him to do what he so desperately wants to. What he knows he shouldn’t do. He purses his lips, thinking long and hard about the right choice.

Finally, he grabs his wallet and opens it to dig out the little scrap of paper. Hannah’s loopy handwriting stares back at him, enticing him to make a poor decision.

She hadn’t even given him her number for any romantic reason. He reminds himself that she told him that she was done with dating, just like him. So what could it hurt to save her number? Maybe have drinks every now and then while she’s in town. They’re both alone for the summer. It’s exactly what he promised Daisy, after all.

He snatches his phone and quickly types her name and number into his contacts before he can talk himself out of it again. He wonders vaguely what her last name is. Maybe he can ask her if they meet up again. Would that be weird? It would only be fair, he reasons. She already knows his last name.

He puts his phone and wallet back down on his nightstand and sits up against his headboard. As usual, he doesn’t feel like sleep will come to him tonight. He grabs a couple of old case files out of his bedside drawer and starts flipping through them.

If he’s honest, his focus isn’t quite as strong as it normally would be. Hannah’s bright laugh echoes throughout his head, interrupting his thoughts any time he starts making the smallest amount of progress. He just might be in over his head.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! I wanted to give a fair warning that things get a little... intense in this chapter. Nothing over the top (at least I don't think so) but I had a lot of fun writing it! It was really cool to jump into Hannah's head and see where she's at after all these years. I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you do, it would mean a lot if you left a few words at the end! 
> 
> (Also note that the rating has gone up a smidge! Really, it's just down to the nature of Hannah's personality, I think. She's a bit more explicit than Alec is lolol. (ALSO the rating will be moving up to explicit eventually!))
> 
> A huge, HUGE thanks to Britt for all the work and feedback and chatting she did for/with me on this chapter! It would not be nearly as good as it is without her help. As usual, I went over it a few times after she did, though, so any and all mistakes you may see are my own!
> 
> <3 <3 <3

Hannah inserts her key into the lock on her door and twists, unlocking the deadbolt with a heavy thunk. She can’t remember the last time she stayed in a hotel with physical keys like this one, but it’s a bit charming. She shuffles her way into the room, dragging her luggage along. With a quick kick, the door swings closed behind her.

Fading sunlight bathes the small room. She glances around, taking stock. It’s nothing to get too excited about. Pretty decent telly, though it’s obviously not where much of their budget went. Big, fluffy towels in the loo, which she always appreciates. The wallpaper’s not much to look at, either, but when she sits down on the bed, it makes up for everything the room lacks. It cradles her, sinking down just enough to relieve the pressure on her joints while still supporting her weight. The horizon where the sky meets the sea is just visible from her place on the bed, azure brushing up against navy.

This place might just be all right.

She hops up from her place on the bed and starts unpacking her bags. Hannah has always been the type to “move in” when she stays in a hotel, especially if the stay is extended like this one. She just can’t stand living out of a bag when she could make herself at home and give her clothes the room to breathe that they rightfully deserve.

As she unpacks, thoughts of Alec Hardy creep into her mind. He’s… interesting, she can’t deny it. Something about him is just captivating. Whatever it is, it’s the reason she impulsively gave him her number as he was leaving. She finds herself hoping he does call her.

He’s clearly a man who is haunted by his past. It’s the exhaustion in his eyes. The frown that his lips always seem to fall back to. Maybe that’s what it is that she relates to, in a way. Even though she’s no longer an escort, she still lost her best friend and the man who she thought was the love of her life. Eight years later, she’s come to terms with the fact that theirs wasn’t some great, be-all and end-all love. These days she prefers to think there’s actually no such thing. No one is made for anyone else. You just have to do the best you can on your own. If you happen to find someone who’s willing to put up with your baggage, then you’re one of the lucky few. And it takes work on both sides to keep something like that. Hannah has found that it’s much easier not to bother with any of it. No chance of getting hurt or hurting anyone else.

She doesn’t think of Ben much these days. It’s gotten easier as the years have gone on, but he still crops up. How could he not? He moved away from London not long after they went their separate ways. She never did find out where he ended up. The way they fell completely out of touch still wrenches at her heart on lonely nights. The worst part wasn’t losing her boyfriend, she’s done that plenty of times. It was losing her best friend in the world, the one person who she could go to with anything and everything, who was always in her corner. And the knowledge that Ben lost his, too. The crushing isolation that she felt in the months following Ben’s departure was the strongest of her life.

She’s spent many nights wide awake, wondering if it was right, not fighting harder to keep him in her life. Hannah has never regretted her time as an escort. She loved her job, wouldn’t trade that time for the world, but she loved Ben, too. He’s the best man she’s ever known. In the end, she doesn’t believe that there was a right or wrong decision. It wasn’t only her decision to make, after all. Neither of them put in the work that they needed to in order to make them last. She still wonders whether he thinks about her. Misses her the way she misses him.

Now it’s been three years since she gave up the game and dedicated her life fully to her writing. It’s calm now in a way that she couldn’t have imagined possible all those years ago. It still makes her fidgety at times. She never knew it was possible to have too much stability, but here she is. Sometimes life is too boring. She’s happy with her choice; she truly believes that she got out at the right time. Ventured further into writing fiction and found that she actually has quite a knack for it. Still, though, she’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop since she turned her back on sex work. For the moment that everything she’s built up falls to pieces and she’s left amongst the wreckage.

Her thoughts circle back to Hardy, as he’s the one who started this existential crisis in the first place. Something about that man is just so _solid_. It’s more in his personality than it is his appearance, she thinks. Physically he’s a bit of a wisp: lanky and tall and scruffy. But something in his eyes, something in his aura is strong, stupid as that sounds. Like he knows who he is and what he’s meant to do in this life. It’s something she thinks she’s been chasing her whole life, whether she would have admitted it or not.

She also can’t deny how fit he is. Though he’s skinny as can be, his shirt still stretches deliciously across his chest. She spent more time than she’d like to admit imagining popping those buttons open and showing him just how nice it can be to have a bit of excitement in your life. Not to mention how sinfully plump that bottom lip of his is. Just thinking about it now makes her stomach swoop, heat bloom in her chest. She imagines taking it between her teeth, giving it a little tug until he groans into her mouth, bucks against her hips.

Knuckles rapping against the door knocks her out of her fantasy.

“Wh-who’s there?” she calls, a bit flustered from her own thoughts. She shakes her head, fanning her flushed face. Pathetic, getting all hot and bothered from the mere thought of kissing a bloke, even one as gorgeous as Hardy. It’s been too long.

“Room service,” a gruff voice answers. Huh. Weird.

“I didn’t order anything,” she responds. She doesn’t get up and answer the door or look through the peephole. Her gut tells her that something is wrong, though she doesn’t know why. Lots of hotels have room service. She didn’t realise this was one of them, though. She hasn’t seen a menu or anything. Maybe you have to request it downstairs?

The voice doesn’t answer back, but she hears heavy footsteps retreat from her doorway. A feather of anxiety tickles down her spine. She rushes over to the door and makes sure the deadbolt is properly locked. She also takes the time to lock the doorknob and the chain at the top.

She kneels back down in front of her luggage and tries to calm her racing heart. It’s nothing. Just a mix-up. That’s all. She refocuses on putting the last few items of clothes into the drawer.

“Get a grip, Han,” she mutters, shaking her head with a soft laugh.

__________

The brisk sea breeze blows against Hannah’s face as she opens the double doors to her balcony. There’s a round table with two chairs tucked into it. She places her laptop down on the table and sits in front of it, opening the lid. She’s about halfway through the first draft of this novel, and she’s still shocked at how different of a project it is than the one she set out to write. The strangest thing about writing, Hannah’s always thought, is how amorphous it is. An entire universe that she has to build from the ground up. Keep track of every single detail, live the lives of all different kinds of people. It’s constantly shifting. That aspect of writing fiction had really unnerved her when she first started, control freak that she is. As time went on, though, she grew to embrace it. The chaos of it all reminds her of the excitement that used to invigorate her life.

The cursor on the nearly blank document blinks at her. Beckons her to let the words pour out of her fingertips. She’s always thought that cursor was a snide little knob. The sound of the crashing waves reaches her ears as she focuses. She takes a deep breath, trying to let the salty sea air inspire her.

She writes for a few hours until the sun has set completely and her eyes are aching from staring at a screen for so long. She’s pleased with her progress. This chapter is actually a pretty short one, and she thinks she’s nearly done with it. She closes her laptop with flourish and goes back into her room, making sure to lock the double doors and draw the curtains behind herself.

She starts her night time routine by brushing her teeth. A nice, hot shower helps to relax her muscles and her mind. She rubs at her eyes, trying to get rid of the burning sensation that accompanies every blink. Finally, she snuggles down into bed.

After about half an hour of lying in silence, ears ringing, she gets back up and grabs her rucksack. Tucked away in one of the interior pockets is her Chromecast. She wonders if she would ever be able to get used to the silence, should she ever lose her mind and move to a tiny place like this. Maybe she could just buy a box fan or something.

She plugs the Chromecast in and gets it hooked up to the hotel’s Wi-Fi. YouTube has a whole litany of traffic noises, so she chooses one that sounds the most like home and gets back into bed. She’s out like a light before she knows it.

__________

In the morning, she gets breakfast downstairs, an omelette and some orange juice. After a bit of digging about what’s in the area, she finds out that there’s a park a couple of blocks from the Trader’s. After she’s done eating, she heads back up to her room to get everything she needs for a day out. In her rucksack, she packs some granola, a water bottle, her laptop, and the small notebook that she keeps with her at all times. She strikes out with her bag tossed over her shoulders.

One of the first things she notices is that it’s a bit cooler here than it is in London. Fewer people and less traffic, she guesses. When she checks her phone, she sees that it’s actually only 16º here, a good 5º cooler than it is at home. She doesn’t mind, though. Hannah’s always been one for cooler weather. She likes the way it fills her lungs, braces her mind. Hot air always makes her feel muddled and cloudy, not to mention sticky. How can anyone think when they can’t even breathe properly? Thankfully, it doesn’t normally get that warm or humid anywhere in the UK. She went on a trip to America a few years ago. Part of it was spent in Florida in the middle of the summer. She honestly has no clue how any human can survive in that environment. All she remembers from that leg of her trip is unsticking her clammy thighs from one another and the sensation of an elephant sat on her chest every time she stepped outside. Definitely not the life for Hannah, no matter how gorgeous the beaches are.

As she walks down the pavement, people mill about. She can’t help but notice that they all speak to each other when they cross paths.

“Say ‘hi’ to the kids for me, Bev,” one woman says with a huge smile on her face. She turns to another man. “Oi! Brian, how’s the promotion coming?”

“Nearly there now, I can feel it,” responds a man, presumably Brian. There isn’t a single person that she sees go without at least one other pedestrian saying something to them. No anonymity at all. It sets her teeth on edge. She’s spent nearly her whole life shrouded in one disguise or another. Never mind the fact that in London, as long as you don’t get in anyone’s way, no one gives a second thought to any other pedestrian.

In some ways, she supposes it’s nice. They’re clearly a close community. Seem to care about one another one some level. People in London might not bug you while you walk down the street, but they also definitely don’t care whether your wife got back from her vacation all right.

Eventually, a man cuts across her path, his head down. Practically power walking to whatever his destination is. No one stops him or asks him how his morning is going, which Hannah finds strange. He stops at a zebra crossing and when he looks both ways, she catches sight of his profile. Alec Hardy. Her heart stutters in her chest at catching a glace of him so unexpectedly, which she silently berates herself for. She really needs to pin down what it is about this man that makes her lose her composure.

Without much real thought on her part, her legs start jogging towards him. She touches his shoulder lightly and he turns to look, an annoyed expression on his face. _Ah, that’s why no one stops him, then._ For a moment, she’s afraid she made a mistake by approaching him. When he registers who she is, though, his expression softens, just a bit. She offers a smile, halfway an apology.

“Hannah?” he says. His countenance is confusing. A mixture of different things that make it nearly impossible to decipher. She doesn’t _think_ there’s annoyance anymore, but she can’t really be sure. He did look like he was in a hurry.

“Hi,” she offers lamely. She really should have had even the smallest inkling of a plan before doing this. “Just… saw you down the street and wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“Yeah, hi,” he says. He turns his body to face her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Clad in a full suit and tie this morning, he looks even more delicious than he did last night.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, you were obviously on your way somewhere –” Hardy cuts her off quickly, shaking his head.

“No, no,” he says. “You aren’t bothering me. It’s… good to see you again. You get settled in all right last night?”

She smiles, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah, I did. It’s a pretty nice place.”

“Dunno if I’d go that far,” Hardy says. “I stayed there for a few weeks the first time I moved here. Can’t say much for the décor. Nice beds, though.”

“Oh, excellent beds,” Hannah agrees. “Nice balcony, too.”

“I don’t think I ever used the balcony in my room,” he admits. That doesn’t surprise Hannah in the least.

“Maybe you could come by and see mine sometime,” Hannah blurts. Hardy’s eyes widen and she wants to sink into the pavement.

“That, ehm,” Hardy mutters, not quite meeting her eyes. “Yeah. Maybe I could.”

“Oh?” Hannah asks, shocked that he responded at all.

“I promised my daughter that I would make a friend while she’s away for the summer.” A shot of disappointment runs down her spine at the word _friend_ , chased half a moment later by relief. For the best.

“And, well, like you said last night… you don’t know anyone around here.” He looks like it’s physically paining him to continue speaking, so she puts him out of his misery.

“That would be really nice, Hardy,” she says, placing a gentle hand on his upper arm. It’s charming, how bad he is at this. She can tell he’s trying his best.

She finds herself staring at his bottom lip again. A man as gorgeous as him could have anyone he wanted, she’s sure of it. If he only knew how to use his appeal. She wonders if she could get him to properly _relax_ with her one night before her time here is over. Just friends helping one another out, she reasons. He doesn’t strike her as the “friends with benefits” type, but you never know. Especially since they’re both sworn off of relationships. She wonders if it’s been as long for him as it has for her.

“Yeah, good,” he says. He seems to relax after she cuts in. A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, soft and self-deprecating. “I’ll, ehm, text you?”

“Yes,” she says, biting back a giggle at the question mark in his voice.

“I really do have to get back to work now,” he says. He doesn’t sound terribly pleased about it. At least she doesn’t think so. He’s a hard book to read.

“Of course,” she says, stepping back and letting her hand drop to her side. Wow, how long has she been touching his arm like that? “Someone’s gotta keep this place in line.”

He snorts a laugh. Instantly, she wants him to laugh more. Not only that, she wants to be the one _making_ him laugh. For his eyes to light up, the crinkles around them to make themselves known.

“Bye, Hardy,” Hannah says. “See you soon!”

“Right,” he says. He gives her an awkward wave that she finds inexplicably adorable and turns back around to continue walking.

__________

She gets a smidge turned around along the way, but Hannah does make it to the park. At least, she’s pretty sure this is the one she’s searching for. It’s not huge, but it is beautifully lush and green. Shockingly, it’s even sunny today. Not a single cloud in the sky, in fact. That’s no credit to the park, of course, but it does make things prettier. There are blossoms in full bloom that perfume the air around them, soaking in the sunbeams as they sway in the breeze. Branching paths are lined with huge, ancient oak trees.

It is lacking in seating, though. The park she goes to at home sometimes has benches and picnic tables littered throughout it. This place only has a couple of benches, right across from a playground that’s covered in woodchips with small slides and a mini jungle gym.

Since the park is empty, Hannah takes a seat on one of the cement benches and looks up at the sky. She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of flowers and trees and mulch. If she’s honest, she’s never really been an outdoorsy type. If someone asked her to go camping, she would laugh in their face. Over time, she’s come to believe that a bit of fresh air and sunlight does everyone good in small doses.

She pulls her notebook and pen out of her rucksack, flipping it open to the most recent page. Her own loopy handwriting stares back at her, the notes all but incomprehensible. Something she’d woken up and written down in the middle of the night, as usual. A long time ago, a writer friend told her to always sleep with a notebook next to you, in case you have a brilliant idea in your sleep. She’s followed that advice ever since and never once gotten anything useful out of it. Last night, she woke up in a haze and wrote, from what she can make out right now: “Julia MUST learn the secrets,” which means absolutely nothing. She’s never even had a character named Julia in one of her books. She laughs at her sleep-addled brain and flips to a fresh page where she can hopefully get some actual plotting ironed out. The twist at the very end needs work and she figures there’s no time like the present.

She gets lost in her planning, so much so that she doesn’t notice when the park starts filling with people. Eventually, the bench to the side of her is taken up by two mums who are chattering away. Hannah takes a second to pull out her phone and look at the time. Huh, already a few minutes after noon. Now that her nose is out of her work, she notices the grumbling in her stomach. She slides her notebook into her bag and takes out the granola bar and water. She’s just ripping into the bar when a frazzled-looking woman with curly hair approaches her bench.

“Would it be all right if I sat there?” she asks, pointing to the empty spot next to Hannah. She’s holding a wriggling boy with equally out-of-control hair on her hip who looks eager to get to the slides.

“Yeah, ‘course!” Hannah says through a mouthful of granola, scooting over to make more room. The woman gives her a grateful smile and puts the boy down.

“Okay, Freddie,” she says, “go on and play. Mum will be right here watching.” Freddie scampers off without a second glance at his mother.

She places her purse on her lap and begins rummaging through it, glancing over at Hannah. “I’m Ellie, by the way.”

“Hannah,” she replies, finally giving her a smile now that she’s swallowed the food in her mouth. Ellie rummages around until she pulls something out with triumph. She rips the wax paper open and takes a bite of the goodie bar.

“You from around here?” Ellie asks. It sounds like she already knows the answer, and Hannah can’t say she’s surprised. Even if everyone here doesn’t know every single other person, which she’s sure they don’t, Hannah still doesn’t look like she belongs.

“No, I’m on holiday,” Hannah says. They both shift their legs a bit to face each other rather than twisting their necks awkwardly to chat. “I’m from London, actually.”

“Ooh, London,” Ellie says with a smile. “Bit different from here, eh?”

“Just a little,” Hannah says with a laugh. Ellie chuckles along with her, nibbling away at her candy bar. “Tell you what, you can’t get fresh air like this back home.”

“But you can get a decent Chinese,” Ellie retorts.

“At any hour of the night,” Hannah admits.

“So, what do you do in the big city?” Ellie asks.

“I’m a writer,” Hannah says. “What about you?”

"I’m a DS for Wessex Police,” Ellie responds.

“Wow, is everyone here a copper?” Hannah asks with a laugh. What are the odds that she’d meet two in a row?

“How do you mean?” Ellie asks, tilting her head.

“I met someone else from Wessex Police last night at the Trader’s,” Hannah says.

“Oh? Who was it?”

“DI Hardy,” Hannah says. She’s embarrassed at the butterflies that flutter in her stomach at the mention of his name.

“That is the last name I expected to come out of your mouth,” Ellie says. She looks gobsmacked. “Hardy went to the Trader’s? And he _talked_ to you?”

Hannah stiffens at her tone. Why shouldn’t Hardy talk to her? He seemed to have quite a nice time. Certainly took her number at the end of the night, didn’t he? She responds with a clipped, “yes.”

“Oh, God, sorry, must have sounded so rude,” Ellie says, grimacing. “I didn’t mean it like that! It’s not you, it’s him. I’ve never seen Hardy talk to a stranger by choice in the whole time I’ve known him. It’s hard enough to get him to talk to me, and I’m his bleeding partner.”

“You’re Hardy’s partner?” Hannah asks, her jaw going slack. “Blimey, this is a small town.”

“More than you know,” Ellie says.

She’s overcome with the urge to ask Ellie all sorts of questions about Hardy, namely whether she thinks he’ll actually call her, but she resists. How weird and stalker-ish would that be? Instead, she shifts the conversation back to Ellie to keep temptation at bay.

“Do you like your job?” Hannah asks. A bright smile spreads across Ellie’s face, the embarrassed flush receding from her cheeks.

“I do,” she says. “I feel like I make a difference, you know? It’s hard work. The hours are shit and Hardy is… challenging to work for, bless him. But we help people, in the end. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

They chat idly for a while. Hannah learns more about Ellie and her two sons, Fred and Tom. She tells her about how she became a cop in the first place. About how Hardy swooped in and stole her promotion and how she still hasn’t quite forgiven him for it, even if it isn’t his fault. Ellie never mentions a husband, or any romantic partner for that matter, and Hannah doesn’t pry. Hannah tells her a bit about her writing. Ellie looks truly scandalised when she tells her what kind of fiction she writes, but she recovers quickly and asks questions about it, giggling a little every now and then. She even says that she’ll pick up one of Hannah’s books. Lots of people say that; few actually do. Even if she does, Hannah doubts she’ll ever find out. Eventually, Ellie calls Fred over and picks him up.

“Gotta drop this guy off with his granddad and get back to work,” Ellie says. “It was really nice meeting you, Hannah.”

“You, too,” Hannah says. “I think I’m gonna grab some lunch and head back to my room.”

“Oh, if you like fish and chips, you should go to Trolley’s,” Ellie suggests with a wide grin. “Tell him I sent you and he’ll toss extra chips in there.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hannah says with a laugh.

They part ways when they get to the pavement, giving each other one last goodbye. Little Fred waves over his mum’s shoulder as they walk away.

__________

When Hannah gets back to her hotel room and settled in, she opens Netflix. She searches around for a little while before landing on _Bake Off_ , since she’s been meaning to watch the latest season for a while now. As she watches, she munches on her wonderfully greasy fish and chips. Every now and then, she hears a strange shuffling out in the hallway, but she does her best to dismiss it. Probably just the cleaning person doing their job, nothing to stress over. What is it about this place that puts her so on edge?

Eventually, she decides to head down to the convenience area at the end of the hall to get ice. She pads out into the hallway in her socks, clutching the ice bin. She pulls the door closed behind herself and locks it with the little brass key, which she slips into the pocket of her romper. She’s only going to the end of the hall, but as a woman on her own, there’s no way in hell she’s leaving her door unlocked for any amount of time.

She makes her way down to the cramped room at the end of the hallway. It’s got a giant ice machine, humming loudly in the small space. There’s also a vending machine with crisps and candies and one for soda.

The ice clanks into the bin, filling it in a matter of moments. After a second’s consideration, she buys a chocolate bar and heads back out into the hallway.         

As she walks, she considers what she should have for dinner in a few hours. Maybe she could go down to the front desk and ask for recommendations. There must be a few good little places around here. She gets to her door and stops short, every muscle in her body tensing.

It creaks open, a sliver of harsh white light spilling into the hallway, onto her socks.

Before she can really process what’s happening, the door swings open wide, revealing a huge man, dressed head to toe in black. Their eyes lock. Cold, dead, slate blue seems to pierce her soul. Every cell in her body wants to scream, but she can’t find her voice.

“You wasn’t supposed to see this part,” he growls. His voice is like crunching gravel, grating against Hannah’s ears. He lifts one arm and the light glints off something in his hand. Finally, her muscles unlock. Just as he’s swinging his arm, she twists, trying to protect herself in whatever way she can. Something white hot slices against her upper arm. And, at last, the iron grip on her vocal cords is released. She screams as loudly as she can. In the back of her mind, she registers that someone in the room down the hall from her opens their door and sticks their head out.

The man her shoves her behind himself, into her room, and takes off running, uneven steps echoing through the hall. She loses sight of him as she falls and slams to the floor. Ice explodes all around her when the plastic bin clatters to the floor. A scurrying down the hallway tells her that her neighbour is coming her way. She kicks the door closed and scrambles back up to her feet to latch every lock before they can get to her door.

Her room is utterly ransacked. Clothes are strewn about. Her luggage is lying in a heap in the middle of the floor. There’s even ceramic littering the place where he’d shattered one of the mugs next to the coffee maker. What the hell was the point of that? The room is empty of anyone else, though, something she’s only just realised she should have checked before locking the door. She digs her phone out of her pocket and dials with trembling fingers.

“Hello?” the Irish operator says in an inappropriately cheerful tone. “You’ve got the police here.”

“Hi, sorry, m-m-my hotel room’s been broke- broken into, and I think he s-stole some things,” Hannah says. Her own voice is trembling so badly that she almost doesn’t recognise herself.

“All right love, are you in danger right now?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hannah responds. “He r-ran away.”

“Okay, what’s your name, love?”

“Hannah. Hannah Baxter.”

“All right, Hannah, my name is Fiona. I want you to lock the door. Where are you staying?” the operator asks.

“It’s locked. I-I-I’m at the Trader’s,” Hannah says. Her heart is being squeezed tighter and tighter. Her head is light; she can’t seem to get enough air, no matter how deep of a breath she takes.

“Okay, sweetheart, I want you to sit down and breathe. Are you hurt?”

“I-I think he cut me on the arm,” Hannah says. “But I don’t think it’s bad.” She collapses back onto the floor, leaning against the bed and clutching her phone with both hands.

“I’m dispatching the police and an ambulance right now. They’ll be there in two minutes, all right? I’m going to stay with you the whole time.”

And she does. She talks to Hannah, doing her best to guide her breathing and keep her from shattering to pieces on the floor of her hotel room. Two minutes later, Hannah hears sirens fade into existence. She wonders if she’ll ever hear a police siren without thinking of this moment.

“There they are, love. Can you hear them? They’re right there. Help is right there.”

A bit later, she couldn’t say whether it’s thirty seconds or an hour, there’s a knock on her door. A familiar voice comes from behind it.

“Wessex police, can you open the door, please?”

“H-Hardy?” Hannah calls back. The fist around her heart finally begins to relax, one finger at a time. She realises that tears are streaming down her face. When did that start? As she stands up on wobbly legs, she does her best to wipe the tears away, though they keep falling.

“Hannah? Hannah, is that you? Yes, it’s DI Hardy. Are you hurt?” Hardy’s voice is low and urgent, rumbling from deep in his chest.

“Hannah?” asks another voice. Ellie from the park?

“They’re here,” she says. “Thank you so much, Fiona.”

She lets her phone drop to her side and walks over to the door. Just to be sure, she looks through the peephole. Hardy is standing on the other side, his jaw clenched. He’s holding his badge up near his face. Just behind him, she sees Ellie. She unlocks all three locks and throws the door open.

“Hannah, are you hurt?” Hardy asks as soon as she comes into view. He steps closer, gently, hands held out in front of himself. With a gasping breath, she stumbles forward and collapses into his arms. He stiffens, just for a moment, before his arms hesitantly wrap around her. She buries her face against his shoulder, letting her tears soak into his suit. People begin to move around them, entering the room and whispering amongst themselves, but Hardy seems to pay them no mind. His embrace tightens until she some part of her feels like he might be the only thing actually holding her together.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I'm really sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter out to you all! Unfortunately, I had a personal tragedy happen a couple of weeks ago and I've been really struggling since then. But better late than never? Thanks so much if you're giving this story a try. I'm having a lot of fun writing it and I can't wait to continue it! 
> 
> If you enjoy it, please leave me a few words! It means more than I can say and keeps me motivated :D
> 
> A huge HUGE thanks to my best friend Britt for somehow finding the time in her insane schedule to beta read this for me! I did go over it a ton after she finished with it, though, so any mistakes are my own!

There’s a flurry of action around them as Hardy’s team pours into the room and begins making their initial assessments. Cameras flash, crime scene tape is rolled out while Hannah’s tears soak into the shoulder of his suit. He doesn’t mind, he just holds her to his chest, his heart beating out of rhythm.

“Hannah?” he whispers into her hair. She snuffles but doesn’t respond. He repeats her name, lifting his shoulder to get her attention. She pulls back and the look on her face makes him weak in the knees. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, brow furrowed like she’s trying to understand what’s going on. The fire that he’s used to seeing in her eyes has been practically snuffed out.

“I’m going to take you down to the station,” he says. “We’ll take your statement there while they process the scene, okay?”

She nods, her jaw trembling. His chest constricts and his hands find the tops of her arms of their own accord. Her right arm is wet and sticky when he makes contact. Carefully, he pulls his hand away to find a dark red stain on it. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, doing his dead level best to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, I – I think he cut me,” she says with a little nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, already moving to get a better look at the gash on her bicep. It’s long and thin, running a few inches down her arm in a jagged little line just below the sleeve of her blouse. He only hopes that it isn’t deep.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a helpless shrug. “I just forgot. I can’t even really feel it.”

“No, don’t apologise,” he says, looking her directly in the eyes. “You probably can’t feel it because you’re in shock. The EMTs are nearly here, we’ll wait for them outside. They might want to stitch you up and bring you to hospital. Then you can come to the station and give us your statement.”

She nods and he motions towards the hallway. Hannah walks out of the room as he turns to give his team instruction.

“Miller, you stay here and make sure they don’t bugger anything up, all right? I want this scene examined by the book. I do not want a single hair or fingernail to get passed over. I’m going to make sure she’s okay and talk with the EMTs. If we have to go to hospital, I’ll call you and tell you when to pick us up.”

“’Course,” Miller says without complaint, her little notebook and pen already in hand. The moment Hardy turns around she’s giving individual members of the team orders.

__________

Hardy leads Hannah downstairs, using his body as a shield against the prying eyes of every other hotel guest along the way. He ignores Becca when she tries to flag him down, taking Hannah outside just as the EMTs pull up in their wailing ambulance. Two women explode out of the back of the vehicle and he waves them over, holding his badge up. They come over, kits out, and begin examining Hannah for injuries. Thankfully, the only place she seems to be injured is the cut on her right arm.

“Okay, it’s difficult to tell since the cut is so thin, but I don’t _think_ you’re going to need sutures. We do need to take you to hospital and give you a full work-up, though. You never really know what you could be missing in the field. Detective Hardy, we can have someone call you when –”

“No,” Hardy breaks in, “I’ll be riding along, thanks.”

Shock briefly crosses the EMT’s face before she schools her features and nods, gesturing for them both to climb in the back of the ambulance. The EMTs ask Hannah some standard medical history questions and the rest of the short ride is spent in silence, the wailing of the siren piercing everyone’s eardrums. Hannah presses herself directly against Hardy’s side. After a few moments of agonising whether it’s appropriate or not, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and settles her more comfortably against him. He’s careful not to touch the cut. One of the EMTs lifts an eyebrow, but he ignores her. He can just make out the sound of Hannah’s sniffling beneath the rumble of the ambulance’s engine and screeching siren. He rubs her shoulder with his thumb, hoping that it brings her the smallest bit of comfort.

They make it to the hospital and everyone unloads from the ambulance, one of the EMTs directing them to an examination room in A&E. In actuality, it’s less a room and more an examination table surrounded by curtains. He holds out a hand to Hannah, helping her up onto the cushioned table. As she settles in, he hesitates by the opening of the curtains.

“I’ll just, ehm, be right out there?” Somehow it comes out as a question. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the hallway behind himself. Hannah’s expression shifts, something almost like fear creeping across it. She opens and closes her mouth a few times.

“D’you think… would it be okay if you stayed here?” Her voice is small and so soft that if he hadn’t been looking directly at her, he might not have even realised she’d spoken. His heart clenches in his chest.

“If you want me to, of course,” Hardy says, drifting back into the centre of the space. He gestures to the hard plastic chair beside her. “Do you want me to sit there, or…?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice a little stronger. He takes the seat instantly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. Silence settles over them. It isn’t exactly awkward, but he still feels like he should say _something._ Hardy has never been a conversationalist at the best of times. He’s racking his brain desperately for an appropriate topic of conversation when Hannah speaks up again. “You never texted me.”

His head shoots up to meet her gaze. Her expression is difficult to read, lots of emotions flitting across it in an instant, but a playful smirk is curling at the very edges of her lips. Somehow, it helps Hardy to breathe just a little bit easier.

“I was going to,” he responds, a matching smile inching across his face. “To be fair, I’ve been at work all day. We can’t all be on holiday, you know.”

“Were you really?” she asks.

“At work?” he asks, taken aback.

She laughs, just a tiny bit. What a gorgeous sound that is. “No, you plum. Were you going to text me?”

“’Course I was,” he says with a confidence he didn’t know he had. He had spent most of his workday trying to gather the courage to send her a message, actually. It’s been ridiculously slow the last few weeks. Most of his time at the station lately has been spent doing paperwork or breaking up arguments between neighbours who, frankly, should not be living next to each other.

Since seeing Hannah on the street this morning, she’s taken up most of his conscious thought. Something about her – the light in her eyes, the bounce in her step – captivates him. There’s an urge deep in his chest to get to know her, to let the sunshine she exudes warm the dark corners of his spirit.

He shakes his head minutely. Never mind the fact that he has _no interest_ in a romantic relationship, there could not be a less appropriate time for him to be having thoughts like these.

“What are you thinking about?” Hannah asks, biting her bottom lip. He wants to tell her the truth.

“Just the case,” he says instead. “Wondering where we should begin the investigation. I’ll be taking point, obviously, and I want to put together the best team I can.”

Something deflates behind her eyes. Her shoulders sag like the weight of the world was just dropped on them. He wants to take his words back, to say anything else, but he can’t. He’s the lead detective on her case. Nothing can happen. Even if he could fool himself into believing that someone like Hannah could ever be the least bit interested in him, everything in the universe is giving him clear signs that he should stay away.

“But,” he says, trying to save the situation somehow, “we don’t need to talk about that just yet. I heard that you met Miller and her son this afternoon.”

She looks back up at him, seeming relieved that he’s changed the subject. “You mean Ellie?”

“Aye,” he confirms with a nod. “She told me she met a… a nice blonde woman at the park who mentioned me by name.”

What Miller had actually said was “a gorgeous bombshell of a blonde who says she gave _you_ her phone number. Oh go on, Hardy, are you going to call her?” but he figures the details don’t matter.

“I did,” Hannah says with a little laugh. “Mention you by name, that is.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen Miller so lost for words in all my life,” Hardy says, chuckling along with her. “She asked if I was pulling a prank on her.”

“She didn’t!”

“Aye, she did,” Hardy says, holding up one hand.

Just as Hannah is opening her mouth to respond, the curtain swishes open to reveal a woman in a white lab coat.

“I’m Dr Michael,” she says, holding a hand out to Hannah. “I’ll be the one examining you. I think we’re going to take a couple of scans just to make sure you’re in tip-top, but from what the EMTs told me, I don’t think you’ll be here too long, love.”

She turns to Hardy. “You can wait outside, Detective, I assure you she’s quite safe with me and she has the right to be examined in private.”

As Hardy is standing up to leave, Hannah’s hand shoots out to grip his. Her nails dig into his palm and he opens his hand instinctively, and only just manages to stop himself from lacing their fingers together. What the hell has gotten into him?

“Is it okay if he stays with me?” Hannah asks Dr Michael, a slight panic on the edges of her voice.

“Oh, of course,” she says, “if that’s what you want. I’m sorry, Detective, please feel free to stay.”

Hardy sits back down on the hard plastic chair, a tiny piece of him deeply relieved to be staying in the room. He does his best to shove that little impulse into a box and lock it tight.

He’s in trouble.

__________

True to Dr Michael’s word, Hannah is examined and discharged with a good bill of health (other than her cut, which was deeper than the EMT originally expected) within an hour. What took the longest was the twelve sutures she ended up needing. He had called Miller while they were waiting for the X-ray results, so she’s parked outside the hospital when they walk out.

“Everything all right?” she asks, opening the back door for Hannah.

“Mhm, just a little cut on my arm is all,” Hannah says as she settles down in the back seat. “No big deal.”

“Take us to the station, Miller,” Hardy growls.

“I know,” Miller says with an eye roll. He ignores her and buckles his seat belt. His jaw is clenched, aching. He knows Hannah’s in pain, she told the doctor so not thirty minutes ago. The shock had worn off soon after they arrived at the hospital and was replaces with shooting pain. An eight, she said. To be fair, they did give her something for it. He doesn’t think that it took the edge off as much as it should have, though, because she still winces every time she moves her arm. He is going to find the man who did this.

The ride to the station is spent in tense silence.

_________

When they get to the station, Hardy opens Hannah’s door and helps her out of the car. It’s completely unnecessary, but she finds that she doesn’t really mind. His warm hand clasped around hers is grounding. He lets go as soon as she’s out of the car and she misses his touch, though she hates to admit it.

Ellie and Hardy bring her through the station, officers heads turning towards them as they walk. Hardy opens the door to an office with lots of windows and his name above the door. Ellie tells her she can take a seat across from the desk as Hardy closes the blinds.

“We’d like to record your statement if that’s all right?” Ellie asks in what might be the gentlest tone Hannah’s ever heard. Hardy looks to her for confirmation and she gives him a little nod. Soon they have a camera set up and pointed at her. She squirms a bit beneath their intense gazes and the harsh light beside the camera. Hardy puts on a pair of glasses and grabs a notebook while Ellie presses record on the camera.

“For the tape, this is Hannah Baxter giving a victim statement for an assault and robbery that happened on April 18th at 1500. Okay, Ms Baxter,” Hardy says, scribbling on a notepad before looking up at her over his eyeglasses, “can you please tell me what occurred tonight? Everything you can remember.”

“Well,” Hannah says, unsure where to begin, “I was in my hotel room pretty much all afternoon. I had left earlier in the day to go to the park and get some lunch, but I got back around 1:30 and didn’t leave again. I was going to get some ice from the convenience area at the end of the hall. I had been hearing strange noises ever since I got to the hotel, so I made sure to lock the door behind myself. They’ve got, like, physical keys at the Trader’s, so I know it was locked. I didn’t want… well, exactly what happened to happen, I guess.”

She scoffs a laugh at herself, twisting her hands in her lap. He’s there in her mind, his cold, dead eyes boring into hers relentlessly. The silver flash of his knife swings down on her. And then the scratch of Hardy’s pen across his notepad brings her back to the moment. She gasps in a deep breath, meeting his eyes.

“If you need to take a moment,” he begins, already reaching for the camera to shut it off. She shakes her head.

“No, I’m fine. I want to finish,” she says. Hardy twitches a little in his chair, like he wants to get up and do something, but settles back down quickly.

“Anyway, I went to the end of the hall and got my ice, looked at the vending machines, couldn’t have been more than… five minutes? When I was walking back to my room, I saw that the door was open, just a little. Like I said before, I _know_ that it was closed because I’m positive I locked it behind myself. I still have my key and all.”

“What did you do when you saw that the door was open?” Hardy asks, pen hovering above paper.

“I froze. Didn’t have a clue what to do. Before I even really knew what was happening, the door flew open and this man ran out. I wanted to run or scream or do anything, but I was just… frozen. He said ‘you wasn’t supposed to see this part,’ and then he lifted his arm. I saw something metal flash and I finally moved. Just kind of,” she twists her upper body to demonstrate, “twisted out of the way a bit. Enough that he hit my arm and not my chest or something. I screamed, and someone down the hall opened their door to see what was going on. I guess that scared him, because he pushed me into my room and took off running. I closed the door and locked it as fast as I could, then I called 999. That’s everything I can remember. It was all so fast. I still can’t quite believe it happened, honestly.”

“Could you describe the man to us?” Hardy asks. She shakes her head.

“Not really. He was wearing a mask. Dressed head to toe in black. All I know is that he had these terrible blue eyes… about six feet tall, average build. I think I’d be able to pick his voice out if I heard it again, though that’s pretty useless with helping to find him. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” Hardy says, almost before she’s even done speaking. Ellie nods in agreement with him. “You’re doing an incredible job. And we are going to find this man, no matter what.”

“Are you positive that’s exactly what he said?” Ellie asks. Hannah nods.

“Yeah. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting those words any time soon,” she chuckles, a lifeless little sound.

“And you said that you were hearing strange noises from the time you got your room?” Hardy asks.

“Yeah, I mean I don’t think it was anything. Sometimes when you’re a woman travelling alone you can get a bit jumpy is all.”

“Anything else out of the ordinary happen?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Hannah says, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “I really wish I could tell you something more helpful.”

“Hannah, you’re being extremely helpful. Can you tell me, is there any reason someone would want to hurt you?” Ellie asks.

“What, you guys think I have enemies or something? I’m not a mob boss or anything, I’m just a… a writer. A normal woman living her life.”

“Well, if anyone comes to mind, please don’t hesitate to tell us,” Ellie says as though the prospect of Hannah having an arch nemesis isn’t ridiculous.

“Okay,” Hannah says with a little shrug.

“And you’re sure you locked your door?” Hardy asks. From anyone else, it might sound condescending or judgemental. But the look in his eyes, the soft compassion there, tells her that he really just wants all of the facts as ironed out as possible.

“I’m positive. I don’t have a clue how he got in my room. Maybe he stole a key from the front desk or something?”

“Did you have anything of particular value in your room?” Hardy asks. “Something that people might have found out about?”

“Not really,” Hannah says. “Maybe my laptop? Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t even know what he took. I was too scared to do anything but sit on the floor while I waited for the police. Oh, shit. God, I hope he didn’t take my laptop. It’s got all my notes and drafts for my newest novel.”

“We’ll ask SOCO if they recovered your computer,” Hardy assures her. “Is there anything else you can think of to tell us? No matter how small, it could be really helpful.”

Hannah pauses, thinking hard about everything that happened. It was all unimaginably fast. After a moment, something does occur to her, though she doesn’t know if it’ll actually help. “I think he has a limp.”

“A limp?” Ellie asks, leaning forward.

“Yeah, when he was running down the hallway he had, like, uneven steps. I dunno. Is that helpful at all?”

“Yes, it is,” Hardy says. He makes note of it and finally closes his notebook. “You can cut the tape, Miller.”

With a nod, Ellie flicks off the camera and grabs the memory card out from the bottom of it.

“I’m going to go file the video,” she says, brandishing the little SD card in one hand. “Is there anything you need, Hannah?”

Hannah shakes her head and gives a shrug. Ellie pats her on the left shoulder on her way out of the room. Hardy wanders back around his desk, stopping in front of her and leaning against the polished wood, his palms flat against the surface. He clears his throat.

“Okay, I’ve just got to go grab some papers, I’ll be right back. Will you be okay here by yourself for a minute?” he says.

“Oh, yeah, ’course!” Hannah says. “I mean, do you want me to stay here in your office? Or should I go somewhere else so you can work?”

“No, you can stay. Of course you can stay,” he says quickly, standing up straight. He pauses for a beat. “Unless you’d feel more comfortable somewhere else? I can have you set up in an empty office or –”

“No,” she says just as swiftly. He nods, a jerky, stilted movement like he isn’t quite sure what to do next.

“So I’m just gonna –” He points towards the door and Hannah nods.

She sits alone in his office for a couple of minutes, looking around. There isn’t much here to speak of, not that she expected inspirational posters from him or anything. His desk is piled high with folders and papers, a couple of mugs scattered around. On the back wall, there’s a poster board with a few different forms tacked to it. There’s one picture frame on the desk, facing away from her. As she sits in silence, memories of the attack creep up on her. Maybe checking out the picture would give her enough of a distraction until Hardy returns. Would it be weird to go around to the other side and look? Or, like, illegal? She wonders whether he’s got top secret stuff over there. A quick peek probably won’t hurt, as long as she doesn’t touch anything.

She gets up from her chair and sneaks around his desk, tiptoeing for no one because the blinds and door are closed. A smile spreads across her face when the photo comes into view. It’s of Hardy and a blonde girl in her late teens at of some festival, bumper cars and fairy lights accenting the background. They’re each holding a giant cone of candy floss, his pink and hers blue. There’s a smile on his face that makes him look years younger. The dimples in his cheeks are those of a mischievous schoolboy. It looks like it was taken mid-laugh, his hair blowing wildly in the wind, and she finds herself wondering what was said to get that gorgeous reaction from him. She’d love to see him laugh like that. The girl is trying her best to look annoyed, but amusement is clear in her eyes.

Suddenly, the door to his office swings open and Hannah gasps. For some reason, she sits right down into his cushy chair, placing her palms flat on his desk. She’s just trying to formulate an excuse for why she is where she is when an unfamiliar head pokes into the office. Huh, not Hardy, then.

“Excuse me, Detective, oh –” the man with tight, curly hair starts when he sees Hannah at the desk instead of Hardy. “You aren’t the detective.”

She gives an awkward chuckle. “No, I’m not.”

He steps fully into the office and notices the camera that’s still out. Then his eyes shift over to her, scanning every inch of her that’s visible. “You must be the victim. I’m SOCO Brian. Y’know, I heard you were new to Broadchurch. Maybe I could show you around? Give you the real local experience. I know all the best spots.”

“Er, I don’t think so,” Hannah says shifting a little in Hardy’s chair. “I don’t imagine I’ll be up for much sightseeing any time soon.”

Her reply doesn’t dissuade him in the least. A look she knows all too well slides into his eyes. The look of a “challenge” accepted.

“Shitface treating you okay?” Brian asks, shifting smoothly to a new tactic. “I know he can be a bit much to handle. Just let me know if he gives you any trouble and I’ll give him what for.”

“What did you call him?” she asks, jaw dropped open. For what might be the first time in her life, Hannah actually sees red. A slight tint colouring the very edges of her vision. Her hands ball up into fists, nails digging into her palms.

“Oh, that’s just something we all say,” he says with a breezy laugh, waving his hand in the air between them. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen why.”

“Actually, I haven’t,” Hannah says. Her eyes are burning, venom dripping from her voice. “Detective Alec Hardy has been nothing but kind and understanding towards me. Maybe the issue is with you lot and not him after all.”

Brian stutters, floundering for a retort as the smirk slides off his face. She’s gearing up to go on when a tall figure steps up behind him, blocking the light in the doorway and casting a shadow over him.

“SOCO Brian!” Hardy roars, rolling the ‘r’ in his name harshly. She wonders if he heard what she was just saying and what he would think of it. “What are you doing in my office without my permission? Harassing the witness to my newest case, no less!”

“Detective Hardy,” Brian says, turning about face. “I wasn’t harassing _anyone_. I was just looking for you to let you know that SOCO is done taking samples from the scene and that we’re processing everything we found as quickly as we can.”

“You’re done already?” Hardy asks. He sidesteps around Brian and enters his office, two mugs in hand.

“It’s a small scene, sir,” Brian defends.

“Right,” Hardy says. “Well, hop to it then. I want the results on my desk the moment they’re in. And I want them done _properly._ ”

“Sir,” Brian growls, skittering away from the office door. Hardy closes the door gently and turns around to Hannah.

“Was he bothering you?” Hardy says, placing the mugs in the middle of his desk.

“You weren’t kidding about people calling you shitface,” Hannah says in response. Hardy barks out a laugh, sitting heavily in the chair across from her.

“No, I wasn’t. According to Miller, they’ve been doing it since the moment I got here.” He leans forward and places his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on top of his fist. The gleam behind his eyes and smile playing at the corners of his lips makes her believe that he did, in fact, hear her telling Brian off.

“Well, that’s out of order. I might need to give them all a piece of my mind,” she says, mirroring his posture.

“Ah, no,” he says with a little shake of his head. “I know I can really be a bit of a hardarse. And I don’t think it would do any good. They all believe what they want to believe. Always have.”

“It’s disrespectful! You’re their boss!”

“You’ve never called your boss a rude name behind their back?” he asks, smirking just a little.

“Well,” Hannah says, searching for a good answer. “That’s different. They really were terrible. And you’re… lovely.”

Her cheeks burn hot as the word leaves her mouth without much permission. Lovely? She could have gone for anything else. Nice, respectful, hardworking, a decent guy.

“Why are you sitting in my chair?” Hardy asks, skirting right over her comment. Her cheeks flush hotter.

“I just wanted to see what your picture was,” she admits, gesturing towards the frame. “I’m sorry, I know it’s probably inappropriate. I swear I didn’t look at any of your files or anything.”

“It’s okay,” he says, and she thinks he means it. He gets up and comes around to stand behind her, leaning so that he’s just barely pressed against her back, hand outstretched to grab the photo off his desk.

“That’s my daughter,” he says.

“I thought so. She’s beautiful,” Hannah says. He’s still close behind her, holding the picture so they can both see it, but he isn’t touching her anymore. Despite that, the warmth of his chest radiates across the centimetres of air between them. She finds herself wishing that he would put the frame down and wrap his arms around her.

“She is,” he agrees. “This was from a fair that came through a while back. Miller insisted we take all the kids. I didn’t really want to go, but I knew Daisy would like it. It turned out to be a great night, not that I’d tell Miller as much.”

They laugh, his low, gravelly voice weaving together with hers. It makes her stomach swoop. She reaches out towards the photo, intent on touching his smiling face, and winces as the wound on her arm pulls tight.

“Shit,” she whimpers, snatching her hand back and cradling her arm. The sharp pain is an unpleasant reminder of why she’s in his office in the first place. The sinister knife glinting through the air, the cold malice in the eyes of her attacker.

“Hannah?” Hardy says, his voice faint, like he’s a couple of rooms away. “Are you all right?”

Her chair spins around and the warmth of Hardy’s whiskey brown eyes melts away some of the ice that’s encompassing her heart.

“Just try and breathe, okay? Take some deep breaths for me, darling,” he says, his hands hovering over her legs like he isn’t sure what to do with them. His instruction makes her realise that she _is_ hyperventilating. She grips his shoulders, staring directly into his eyes and taking one deep breath. Hardy nods in encouragement.

“There you go,” he says. He takes a deep breath along with her, helping her keep a steady rhythm. His eyes never leave hers. They’re gentle, concern and compassion swimming in them. Eventually, his palms settle on her thighs, so softly she doesn’t notice at first, like he’s ready to snatch them away at the first sign of discomfort from her. She doesn’t give him a reason to move them. The weight of his hands against her is just as helpful as the warmth of his eyes and the steadiness of his breath.

After a minute, the roaring in her ears dies down, her breaths even out. The white-knuckle grip she has on his shoulders relaxes.

“Feeling better?” he whispers. She nods, blinking back the tears that have welled up in her eyes. She isn’t even sure what they’re for, exactly. The terror that still lingers from the attack? Gratitude for Hardy being there for her every step of the way today? Some mixture of it all?

“Thank you,” she replies. She leans forward and presses her lips against his cheek, lingering there, his breath puffing against her skin. He smells like tea and woodsy aftershave. When she pulls back, she wipes at the lipstick stain she left behind. “Sorry. Got a little makeup on you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a shake of his head. “I brought you a cup of tea. I mean, I don’t even know if you like tea? I just thought it might be comforting. That’s what people do, isn’t it? Bring tea? You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

Hannah laughs out loud, sniffling. “I would love that.”

__________

She and Hardy stay in his office for a few hours, her mostly playing around on her phone while he does paperwork. It’s a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by Hardy checking in on her. Every now and then, one of them gets up to make another couple mugs of tea or snacks. Hannah starts to wonder when, exactly, he ever goes home. Eventually, Ellie comes in to tell them that Hannah’s new hotel room is ready to go, whenever she wants to head out.

“I can take you, if you want,” Ellie offers. Hannah looks over at Hardy, who had previously been lost in the file on his desk. He’s looking back at her with an unreadable expression. Everything within her wants to ask him to be the one to bring her, but he’s done so much for her already today. And it’s getting late now. A glance at the clock on his wall tells her it’s already after ten.

“That would be great, thank you, Ellie,” Hannah says, turning away from him to give her a smile. Ellie looks at her boss behind Hannah’s back, her eyebrows furrowing just for a second.

“Right, we can get off straight away. I had one of the SOCOs grab some of your clothes from your old room along with your toothbrush and stuff. It’ll be waiting at the new place.”

“Am I going back to the Trader’s?” Hannah asks, a bit of trepidation sneaking into her voice.

“No,” Ellie says, shaking her head. “The new place is a little way out of town. We didn’t figure you’d want to go back there.”

She breathes a little bit easier at that. As Hardy stands up, Ellie slips out of the office, muttering something about warming the car up. Hannah turns around to say goodnight. He’s looking down at the ground with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done today, Hardy,” Hannah says. He looks up, face scrunched up like he’s about to protest. “You’ve been… I just don’t think I would have survived without you.”

“Oh,” he says, waving a hand. “You would have been all right. You’re strong.”

“Well, thank you anyway.” She bites her bottom lip.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me, Hannah,” he says. She loves the way her name sounds in his voice. The gruff caress sends shivers down her spine.

“And how am I supposed to call you? You never _texted_ me,” she teases, poking her tongue out between her teeth.

He laughs, grabbing his phone off his desk and unlocking it. After a few moments, her own phone buzzes in her purse. She fishes it out, holding back a giggle.

_Hannah, this is Alec. If you need anything, please call me._

_You can call me Alec, by the way. If you want._

“Goodnight, Alec,” Hannah whispers. Despite everything telling her to cross the room and give him a kiss on the cheek, she forces herself to turn around and walk out of his door.

_________

“Thanks for bringing me to the new place, Ellie,” Hannah says with a grateful smile as she buckles up. “Oh, or should I call you DS Miller now?”

“God, please do not call me that,” Ellie says, shuddering. Hannah laughs. Just as she suspected.

“Ellie it is,” she says.

“And don’t mention it. The hotel is on the way to my house, actually.” Ellie cranks up the car and gives Hannah a smile.

“Oh, really?” Hannah asks, eyebrows raised. A guilty look crosses Ellie’s face.

“Well, sort of,” she says. “Only a small detour from my normal route, really. Doesn’t matter, I don’t mind bringing you!”

“Will you lot need me back at the station any time soon?” Hannah asks. Really, she wouldn’t mind having to spend more time there. As long as she got to set up roost in Alec’s office, that is.

“We shouldn’t,” Ellie says, eyes on the road. “Unless you remember something new, of course.”

“Does that happen a lot? That someone remembers something later?”

“Oh yeah, loads,” Ellie says. “It’s hard to remember everything after a trauma. Hardy and I are both impressed with how much you were able to give us today, actually.”

“You don’t hate him, do you?” Hannah asks, suddenly aware of how differently Ellie speaks about him than the way SOCO Brian did.

“Who, Hardy? No, ’course not. He’s a good man,” Ellie says with such conviction that Hannah believes her without a single doubt. “I mean, he’s an arsehole, too. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I want to strangle him with my bare hands or throw a mug at his head. But he’s a genuinely good man who wants to help people. God knows where I’d be without him. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“SOCO Brian was talking to me today,” Hannah begins. Ellie interjects with an ‘ugh’ and Hannah laughs. “Think he was hitting on me.”

“Of course he was!” Ellie explodes. “I swear, that man couldn’t keep it in his trousers if his life depended on it. You know he hit on me when I was married?”

“No,” Hannah says, eyes wide in disgust. “He knew you were married?”

“Everyone knew I was married. He just didn’t care.” She makes another sound of disgust in the back of her throat. “If he gives you any trouble, you tell me. I’d love to give him a bollocking for that inappropriate behaviour he’s so fond of.”

“Thank you,” Hannah says. “I think I handled him myself, though.”

“Good on you,” Ellie says, tossing a grin over her shoulder. They spend the rest of the ride chatting about this and that, Ellie’s favourite restaurants in the area, how boring it’s been at the station lately, what Hannah wants to do with the rest of her time here. Before too long, they’re pulling up to a brightly lit hotel.

“D’you want me to help you get settled in?” Ellie asks. Hannah shakes her head.

“No, you’ve done more than enough for me today. Go home and get some sleep, please. And tell little Fred ‘hi’ from me.” 

 “Night, Hannah.”

Ellie waits for Hannah to get inside before she drives off into the night.

_________

Hannah does her best to settle herself into the little motel room they gave her. She takes a hot shower and puts on a podcast to give herself the semblance of companionship. After her shower, she gets into bed and snuggles down, doing her best to ignore her trembling limbs and the tightness in her chest. Two hours later, she’s still wide awake and flinching at every sound that creaks in the night. She picks up her phone. He answers after two rings.

“Hannah? Are you okay?”

“I’m scared, Alec,” she whispers. “I know that it’s stupid. That I have no reason to believe that guy followed me here or even actually knows who I am or whatever, but I just can’t… be alone.”

He’s silent for a beat.

“Do you want to come stay at my house?”

She doesn’t know what she expected him to offer as a solution, but it certainly wasn’t that. She answers without hesitation. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! It has been an absurd amount of time since I last posted a chapter of this story, I know! I'm very, very sorry about that. I recently got a new job and moved cities, so my life has been pretty much absolute chaos for the last few months. Now I'm settling into a routine and I think it's going to be great for my creativity! 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for clicking on this chapter and still being interested! I love this story and it is always a joy to write. I hope you like this chapter :D
> 
> HUGEST of thank-yous to my best friend and partner in crime, Britt, for taking the time out of your crazy schedule to look at this for me. Trust me, it wouldn't be half the story it is without her. ILY <3 <3
> 
> And now, on with the show!
> 
> (P.S. if you like this story, please consider dropping me a few words in a comment! I can't even tell you how helpful and motivating it is to hear from you guys! Love you!)

Hardy is standing on Hannah’s doorstep within twelve minutes of ringing off. In truth, he doesn’t remember much of the drive over, focused as he was on getting to Hannah as soon as humanly possible. Soft light pours beneath the tiny gap at the bottom of the door and spills onto his shoes. There’s a quiet chattering coming from behind the door, two voices that he doesn’t recognize going back and forth. He knocks gently, hoping not to startle her. The voices cut off in an instant and footsteps thump towards the door.

“Hannah? It’s Hard – er, it’s Alec.” The door swings open before he’s even finished speaking, and the look on her face gives him vivid flashbacks from this afternoon. The lines of her face are etched deep with anxiety, her brow low over her eyes. Every atom in his body wants to wrap her up and hold her until she feels safe again.

Her bottom lip wobbles just slightly and that’s all it takes for him to rush forward, arms open. He spares a moment to worry that, perhaps, a 6-foot-1 man coming at her might _not_ be the thing she needs right now. Before he can even pull back to check, Hannah clutches him closer and buries her face in his chest, hot tears soaking into his t-shirt. He encircles her in his arms, his hands splaying against her back as sobbing, shaky breaths consume her. 

“That’s all right,” he whispers. “You can let it out, I’ve got you.” 

She cries harder, her fists gripping the front of his shirt. He rubs her back in what he hopes are soothing circles. After a few minutes, her sobs slow down, breaths evening out until she’s pressed against him in complete silence. 

“I think I ruined your shirt,” she says, pulling back with a couple sniffs. 

“It’s an old shirt anyway,” he responds with a shrug. “Sorry I didn’t give you a more high-quality cloth to soak up your tears, actually.”

“Shut up,” she says. A tiny smile curls at the edges of her lips and the pressure on his heart releases, bit by bit. The things he would do to put a smile on her face. He ignores that thought.

“Who were you talking to in there?” 

“Oh, no one,” Hannah says. “That was just a podcast. Makes me feel a little less alone.”

Hardy nods with a soft sound of recognition.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, stepping back. Her body seems to sway along with him, gravitating towards his.

“Yeah, just let me grab my bag,” she says. 

“I’ll get it,” Hardy offers. He can see it just beyond the door jamb, so he leans around and snatches it up, sliding it onto his shoulder. 

“I can handle carrying a rucksack a few metres,” she says, rolling her eyes. The little smile creeping across her face gives her away, though. 

“I don’t have a single doubt that you can,” he says, gesturing towards the car. She chuckles as she walks, a small, soft sound that fills his chest with warmth. When she shivers as he cranks the car, he reaches out and turns the heater on high. In a few moments, it’s toasty warm.

“Thank you,” she whispers. He can barely hear her over the blasting heater.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, unsure how to handle the nearly palpable gratitude radiating off of her. Part of him wants to really open up, tell her how important it is to him that they catch the man who hurt her. How he won’t rest until he’s behind bars. The logical part of his brain stops him from doing something so idiotic. 

He nearly makes an offhand comment about it not being a big deal since his place is nearby, but he catches himself. She’s thanking him for far more than a ride, he knows. And he has no clue what to do with that.

* * *

 

When they get to his house, Hardy gets out and grabs her rucksack once again. Hannah meets him at the front of the car, a soft, slightly awkward smile on her face. He tilts his head towards the house and they make the short walk in silence. 

“D’you want some tea or something? Water? A snack?” Hardy asks once the door swings shut behind them.

“Some tea would be lovely, ta,” she says.

“Coming right up,” he says. She follows him to the kitchen, perching herself on one of his barstools. He gets the kettle on and pulls two mugs down from the cabinet.

“Three sug –” He cuts her off.

“Three sugars and just a _splash_ of milk,” Hardy says with a grin.

Hannah bites her bottom lip and he would almost swear a blush creeps across her cheeks. “That’s right.”

“Hope I’d remember,” he says with a shrug. “I must have made you ten cups at the station today.”

“It was _not_ that many!” she cries. “Anyway, like you’re so much better Mr Stirs-His-Tea-With-A-Random-Fork.”

They laugh in unison. It fills his chest with a peculiar kind of warmth to hear her voice full of joy in empty kitchen. Once the kettle goes off and their tea is steeped, he begins preparing both of their cups. Two spoons of sugar and a dash of milk for himself.

“Oi, that was four sugars in mine,” Hannah says.

“That’s because every time I made like you asked me to today, you didn’t think it was sweet enough,” Hardy replies.

“I never sent you back to change it,” she says. Despite her protests, she grabs her mug and blows on it before taking her first sip. A warm smile spreads across her face and Hardy hides his returning smile behind his tea.

“I could tell,” he whispers into his mug. Hannah just looks at him with an expression he can’t quite read. Comfortable silence fills the room.

Once their tea is finished and the washing up is done, Hardy glances at Hannah. She’s fidgeting on her stool, biting at her fingernails.

“Are you ready to go to bed?” he asks. She shakes her head.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I mean, unless you want to. I know you’ve got work in the morning.”

“No, I’m fine to stay up for a bit.”

“Maybe we could watch some telly in the front room?” Hannah.

“Whatever you like,” Hardy says.

He turns on the telly as they sit on the loveseat, Hardy on one end and Hannah at the other with her legs curled up beneath herself. There’s a good few inches of space between them, but Hardy can’t keep himself from imagining closing the distance, maybe putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Any requests?” he asks. Hannah shrugs.

“Anything is fine with me. D’you have Netflix?”

“Er, yeah, think so. I know Daisy uses this remote to watch stuff online in here sometimes.” He offers up a small black remote for Hannah to inspect. She scoots over those last few inches so that their thighs are pressed directly together.

“How do you feel about _Bake Off_?” she asks, already pressing buttons on the remote.

“Fine with me,” he says. “Don’t watch much telly, if I’m honest.”

“No way,” Hannah teases. She bumps their shoulders together, hissing in pain when her injured arm collides with him.

“Shit, sorry,” Hardy says, leaning as far from her as he can.

“No, my fault,” Hannah says. “Switch spots with me?”

Hardy gets up and takes her spot on the loveseat without argument. Once he’s settled in, Hannah leans against him, her head on his shoulder. Before he can talk himself out of it, he puts his arm around her, careful not to touch her injured arm in the process. Just for comfort’s sake, he rationalises. Nothing more.

* * *

 

After an episode and a half, Hannah is falling asleep against his chest. He nudges her just a bit to ask if she’s ready for bed. She gives him a hesitant nod.

“Are there some blankets I could use or something like that?” she asks.

“Oh, no, you’re taking my room.”

“I am _not_ taking your room!” Hannah says. Hardy sighs. He’d had a feeling this argument might be coming.

“You’re a guest and there’s no way you can sleep on the couch with your arm like it is,” he says firmly.

“Alec, I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own home. Especially after I woke you up in the middle of the night and made you drive all the way out to pick me up! You’ve been too kind to me –”

“You aren’t _making_ me do anything. You didn’t even wake me; I was still up working. And I was more than happy to come pick you up. I won’t have you sleeping on the couch all by yourself after the day you’ve had.”

“Like sleeping in a bed all by myself is so much better?”

Hardy’s cheeks heat up. Of course a skinny whelp like him isn’t enough to make her feel safe. He should have had a car here the moment they got in.

“Well, I thought, maybe, with me here in the front room, you would feel… but I can call some of my guys and have them sit outside,” he stammers. Hannah’s hand lands on his chest and her eyes lock on his.

“No, of course I feel safe with you, Alec. I feel a thousand times safer here than I did at my hotel. I don’t need anyone else here.”

“Then you’ll take the bed?”

“I’ll take the bed.”

* * *

 About an hour has passed and Hardy has just drifted off when he’s jerked back to full consciousness by a scream coming from his bedroom.

“Hannah,” he gasps, jumping up off the couch and scrambling down the hallway. He bursts into the room, prepared to tackle the assailant, whoever they may be. But no one else is there. Just Hannah, seemingly asleep, screaming and tossing about, the duvet tangling around her body more by the moment.

He sits down on the bed, reaching a hesitant hand out towards her. He calls her name, breaking through her terror after a few attempts. She gasps as she wakes, pulling away from him and cowering.

“Hannah, Hannah, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, jerking his hand back. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s Alec. It’s okay, you’re safe. There’s no one here but you and me. You were having a nightmare.”

Once she registers who he is, she reaches out for him and he meets her in the middle. She curls her body around his. There are no tears this time, but she’s shaking and clutching at him like she might fall apart at any second. He puts his chin on top of her head and caresses her shoulder with his thumb.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Will you stay with me? Please?”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

* * *

 

An infernal buzzing on his nightstand wakes him. His attempt to blindly reach for his phone is stifled by the warm, heavy weight resting on his arm. With the thick fog of sleep clinging to his mind and the warmth pressed up against his side, he promptly forgets about the noise and snuggles down even further into the bed, scooting closer to the source of heat next to him. 

His phone buzzes again, shaking and shimmying until it falls off of his nightstand and clatters to the ground, snapping him out of sleep entirely. The first thing he sees is a mass of wavy blonde hair. He pulls back, trying to remember where the hell he is when the events of the last day clunk into his head. He has an arm tucked beneath Hannah and wrapped around her body. Their fingers are laced, Hannah holding him firmly in place flat against her stomach. Their legs are a jumble of limbs, all entwined together so that he can’t tell where his begin and hers end. Even in sleep, her right shoulder is tense, her arm curled up in an attempt to keep from jostling it.

His mind flies into overdrive. He’s pulled desperately between wanting to stay right here for the rest of the day and knowing that he needs to move _right now_ before he does more damage than he can recover from. Hannah’s peacefully sleeping face makes a strong argument for never moving. He’s just about to give into temptation and fall back to sleep when sharp vibrations from his phone against the hardwood make the wiser decision for him. Slowly as he can manage, he opens his hand, letting their fingers separate, and slides his arm from beneath her. Then he begins the delicate work of untangling their legs without disturbing her or hurting her arm. 

Free of Hannah’s warm grasp, Hardy scrambles to grab his phone before he misses the call again. When he sees who it is, a soft smile spreads across his face. 

“Hi, darling,” he says as he closes his bedroom door behind himself. Daisy’s face blossoms into view. 

“Took you long enough. I’d almost think you were sleeping in if I didn’t know better,” she says with a grin. Sleeping in? What time is it? Hardy glances at the little clock at the top of his screen and baulks. 9:30? He can’t remember the last time he slept later than 7:00 am. 

“Oi, were you actually sleeping?” Daisy asks when he doesn’t respond, her eyes wide. 

“I, ehm, yeah,” he says with an attempt at a shrug. “I had a long day yesterday. Must have needed the extra rest.”

“Dad, you’ve had a long _decade,_ ” Daisy says. “I’m positive you needed some rest. Are you off work today?”

“No, but I don’t technically need to go in until 11, anyway. We’re waiting on lab results for a case that I caught yesterday.”

Despite his own rationalisation, he already feels antsy at the thought of getting to the station so late. He makes his way towards the kitchen to grab a piece of toast so he can head out the door as soon as possible. His thoughts drift back to Hannah. Should he wake her? Let her know he’s leaving? After the day she had, she needs the sleep. On the other hand, he would hate for her to wake up all alone. And she might need a ride somewhere and he doesn’t want to strand her here all day. Although, she would only have to call him and he would come right back to pick her up. She knows that, doesn’t she?

“Did you need something, love?” he asks, trying to balance his phone on top of the coffee maker so he can stuff a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster.

“Just wanted to see your scruffy face, I guess.” She shrugs but he can hear in her voice that she misses him. It makes his heart ache.

“Well, this scruffy old face is always happy to see yours.” He spoons coffee grinds into the filter, using twice the amount he normally would, and pops it into the maker. After a few seconds of sputtering, the warm smell of coffee fills his senses as it begins to drip into the pot below.

“You’re going to go to work right now, aren’t you?” she asks with a knowing glint in her eye. He chuckles a little and shrugs. 

“Can’t stand sitting around,” he says. He doesn’t think it’s important to reveal to Daisy that he could, in fact, stay home today and be perfectly content.  He wonders whether Hannah would even want to spend the day with him. She had yesterday. Didn’t seem to hate it, if he could be so bold. She could have sat with Miller or in an office on her own. For the briefest of moments, he allows himself to imagine what it might be like. Hannah waking up to the scent of fresh coffee and toast, coming into the kitchen sleepy-eyed with mussed up hair. Sitting across from one another at the table, talking about things that don’t really matter. The weather. How they slept. He wonders if she woke up during the night to find them spooning.

He shakes himself out of his reverie when he realises that Daisy has been talking and he has no clue what she’s said.

“— then she brought in her stupid boyfriend, so I don’t even know if I’m going to go at this point.  What do you think, Dad?” she asks.

“I, ehm, yeah, whatever you’re comfortable with is what you should do. Trust your gut,” he says, scrambling for the appropriate dad-thing to say without revealing his hand. The glint in his daughter’s eye makes him think that she already knows he’s out of the loop. 

“Sage advice as ever,” Daisy says with a little giggle. Hardy freezes when he hears his bedroom door jiggling. “Well, I’ll let you go. I know you’re itching to get to the station. Just wanted to say hi, really.”

“Right, thanks, darling,” he rushes out.

Daisy is telling him that she’ll call him back sometime tonight as his door opens. Two voices overlap.

“Alec? You still home?”

“I’ll tell Mum hi fro — who is that?”

“Bye-bye, sweetheart,” he mutters, clicking the end button. He clenches his eyes shut at the thought of the conversation he knows he’ll have to have with his daughter tonight.

“Oh god, sorry,” Hannah says, clamping her hands over her mouth. “I had no idea you were on the phone with Daisy.”

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” he says without hesitation. Her hair is as mussed up as he imagined moments ago. What would it feel like to run his fingers through it?

“I’m sure there will be some awkward questions for you later,” she replies. She bites down on her bottom lip, guilt etched into her face. 

“Really, it’s fine. Daisy knows when to leave well enough alone.” He says this with more confidence than he has. It’s likely that Daisy will actually question him like a murder suspect, but Hannah doesn’t need to know that. “Besides, it’s not like anything… is happening.”

“Right, of course,” Hannah blurts. “Nothing to hide.”

“So there’s no need to worry. It’s not like I could leave you by yourself in some hotel room you didn’t feel safe in.” 

“Just doing your job,” she says, voice seemingly caught between relief and… disappointment. Disappointment? He must be projecting. “Speaking of, I’m sure you need to get to the station sometime soon.”

“Probably should,” he says, tamping down the instinct to offer to work from home today so he can stay with her. One glance at the bandage on her arm, the way she holds it _just so_ that it doesn’t get jostled makes something else snarl to life in his veins. Something darker, more primal. Something that tells him to find the man who hurt her and make him pay, no matter what it takes.

“Is it all right if I stay here for the day?” she asks. Her eyes are guarded, a few locks of messy, wavy hair falling in front to obscure them. He wants to push them back. To tuck them behind her ear and look into her eyes, so that she can see right into his thoughts. 

“Of course you can,” he says. “You can stay here as long as you want.”

“You aren’t shipping me back off to that hotel when you get home from work, then?” It’s a joke, but he can hear the genuine relief behind the jest. 

“You can stay here as long as you want,” he repeats. The intensity in his own voice makes him feel far more vulnerable than he’s used to. 

“Thank you, Alec,” she says. “So much. For everything.”

“I’m going to nail the man who did this.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. He should get to the station. “I made some coffee for you.”

A smile blooms across her face. “Will you have a cup with me before you leave?”

He doesn’t even consider saying no. 

* * *

 

Hardy arrives at the station at 10:30. The whole team assigned to Hannah’s case (a measly couple of constables, himself, Miller, and a few SOCOs) is already at their respective desks working.

“Alright, everyone assigned to the Baxter case, meet me with all the information you have in five minutes. Do _not_ be late,” he barks as soon as he enters the room. He goes straight into his office to get his own information in order for the meeting.

Five minutes later, he’s standing in front of the whiteboard, Miller at his side with a notepad and pen at the ready. 

“All right, SOCO Brian, what has your team uncovered?”

“Well, the results are still coming in,” Brian says. “Still quite early, after all. There were no prints left at the scene, which makes sense, as Baxter said he was wearing gloves. DNA results won’t be ready for a while yet, I’m afraid.” 

“So then the answer to my question is ‘nothing’? You’ve uncovered the brilliant information that Hannah was telling the truth about his gloves?” Hardy asks, an eyebrow raised in contempt. 

“Nothing _as_ _of_ _yet_ , sir,” Brian growls. 

“Luca, what about you?” Hardy demands. Luca is the youngest recruit to Wessex Police, a slight, twenty-year-old man with a mop of blond curls atop his head. Hardy isn’t thrilled to have him on the case, but there are worse people _._

“W-well, sir, it doesn’t seem like anything of value was actually taken from Ms Baxter’s hotel room, so we’re considering classifying this as something other than an attempted robbery.”

“Was Hannah’s computer recovered then?” Hardy asks. Deep, cold dread is settling in his stomach at the thought that this was more than a simple smash and grab. What could the attacker have wanted from Hannah if not to steal her valuables?

Miller affirms that it was and that it’s in his office, waiting to be returned to Hannah.

“Okay. If not a robbery, what are we thinking it could be? And who are we questioning? Have we made a list of priority on who to question first? Why isn’t that list on my desk already? Has the CCTV come back yet?”

The silence in the room following his questions sets his teeth on edge. He wonders whether the numbskulls here will ever learn how to process more than one thing at a time.

“CCTV got back about ten minutes before you got in,” Miller says, the first one to speak up as usual. “We aren’t sure what the assailant’s goal was if not to rob her, but the lack of stolen items paired with the deadly weapon doesn’t exactly put me at ease.”

“Nor me,” Hardy mutters. 

“I think we should put a unit outside of Hannah’s hotel room around the clock,” Miller says.

“You know we don’t have the resources for that,” Hardy says. “But I can have her stay here at the station with one of us if she’s agreeable.

“That will probably be better anyway,” Miller says, scribbling on her notepad.

“I want vigilance, not just for Hannah, but for every hotel in the area. This could be someone who works in the Trader’s or who has access to it in some capacity. Hannah’s door was locked when she left the room, and he still got inside somehow. Maybe he picked the lock or maybe he had the key. _That_ is what I want to find out. Someone get Becca Fisher down to this station first thing. And have her give us a list of every employee and vendor who even works _near_ the Trader’s. I want to speak to the neighbour as well, have we tracked him down?”

“We have,” Miller jumps in. “He’s going to come to the station after lunch. And Becca Fisher will be in a little while after him.”

“Good. All right. Luca, I want you combing the CCTV with Gregson and Martel. SOCO Brian, I want every test put on rush and I want the results on my desk the moment they are available. Miller and I will conduct the interviews as they come in and we will give you any information that you need. If you come to _any_ conclusions, I want you in my office before you breathe a word to anyone else, got it?”

He glares around the room and receives a nod from each person (other than Miller). 

“Get to work.”

* * *

 

“You were a little late this morning,” Miller says once everyone has disbanded and they walk into his office.

“Overslept,” he grunts, shuffling some papers around on his desk.

“Really? I’ve never seen you get here later than 7:30 in all the time I’ve known you.” She has a sly expression on her face like she suspects he was getting up to something far more exciting than he actually was.

“Really,” he confirms, offering no explanation and doing his best to hold back any sort of reaction that might give him away. Her face falls in classic you’re-no-fun-Hardy fashion and he breathes a little easier.

“What do you want to do while we wait for the first interviews to roll in?” Miller asks.

“I’m going to pick up Hannah and bring her in. I want you to call Becca Fisher and get that list off her as soon as possible so that we can start calling people in.” Hardy is already fishing his keys out of his pocket before he finishes his sentence. “If anything comes in while I’m gone –”

“You’ll be the first one we call.”

* * *

 

Hardy pushes his front door open slowly, calling out Hannah’s name as he does. “It’s me. I need to speak with you.”

“You’re home already?” Hannah’s voice comes from the direction of his bedroom. He makes his way over and finds the door cracked just a bit. He stands outside of it, hands in his pockets.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“It’s your room,” Hannah says. He can almost hear the soft look on her face. He opens the door to find Hannah bundled up in his bed, his laptop sitting on her stomach, some crisps on his bedside table. All of the air whooshes out of his lungs at the sight of her, her face lit by the cool blue light of the laptop. In this moment, he wants nothing more than to come home to this every day.

“Hope it’s okay that I used it,” she says, nodding towards the computer. “It was unlocked. And I swear I haven’t gotten any crumbs in your bed.”

“Yeah, ’course it’s okay. I trust you,” Hardy says. “Whatever you do, don’t let Daisy find out you ate in bed, though. It’ll undo 17 years of fathering in one fell swoop, I’m afraid.”

“Scout’s honour,” she says, one hand held aloft. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed, unsure how to tell her what she needs to know without scaring her even further. The mirth drains from her eyes.

“What’s going on, Alec? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

“We recovered your computer in your hotel room. We recovered everything in your hotel room, actually. It doesn’t seem like anything was stolen.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, right?” Hannah says, her eyes confused. “Unless…”

“We don’t think the man who was in your room actually wanted to rob you.”

“What do you think he wanted to do?” her voice comes out like she’s choking on the very air in her lungs. 

“We aren’t sure. Miller and I thought that it might be best for you to stay at the station with us, for a while. If it’s okay with you, of course. Normally we would stage a few officers outside of your house. Or, well, my house, in this case. If that’s what you would prefer, I’m sure I can get it sorted out.”

“I’d rather be with you,” Hannah says without missing a beat. She reaches out for him and he meets her, their fingers lacing together in a motion that seems altogether far too familiar. Hardy breathes a sigh of relief at her words. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, the real reason he wants Hannah at the station is that he can hardly stomach the thought of being away from her with this maniac on the loose. It doesn’t make sense. They don’t even know each other, not really. They’ve only just met. Yet in his gut, he knows he would lay down his life to protect hers. Would his officers do the same?

He squeezes her fingers tighter, hoping that the pressure tells her everything he can’t say out loud.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh. Hi there! Very, VERY sorry about how long it took for me to get this out to you! But I'm here now and that counts for something, I hope? I've been working on this chapter for about a month now, which kind of feels insane. I really hope some of you are still out there! I had a really good time writing this one, even if it took me an age. If you like it, please consider leaving a comment! They really mean the world to me and help give me the motivation I need to get through the endless rounds of writing and editing!
> 
> A huge, HUGE thank you to my best friend in the world, Britt, for taking the time to look at this for me! As usual, it wouldn't be nearly as good as it is without her help. Ily.
> 
> (By the way, this chapter is quite a long one, so grab a snack and settle in! :D Hope you enjoy.)

 “Hannah, I swear we are going to keep you safe,” he says. They’ve been sitting in the car park of the station for a few minutes now, Hannah chewing on her bottom lip and avoiding eye contact. She’s been on edge ever since she got the news that the attack was likely targeted. Hardy reaches over and covers her hand with his. She finally looks up at him. “I am going to keep you safe. And I’m going to lock up the man who did this to you.”

“I know you will.” Her voice is more confident than he expected.

“D’you want to stay in my office again today?” He can’t explain why his chest feels so tight at asking such a simple question.

“Yes, please,” she says, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. She flips her hand over and twines their fingers together. “If I won’t be in your way, I mean.”

“No, you won’t. ‘Course you won’t. It’ll mostly be paperwork again when I’m in my office today and when I’m conducting interviews, I’ll be in the interrogation room anyway. You’ll be perfect in my office.”

 

* * *

 

Finally in the station, they make a line straight for his office. Miller catches up with them, files in hand and a displeased look on her face. Hardy groans. _Why is it never good news?_

“Becca Fisher sent us the list of all of her employees and contacts who have access to the place. We managed to get in touch with two of the housekeepers, one is on her way right now and the other will be here when he gets off work today. I’ve been in touch with the other employees and gotten most of them down on the timetable. So far, only the two housekeepers can make it in today.”

“And what about Fisher herself?” Hardy asks, opening the door to his office and gesturing Hannah in ahead of him. Hannah shuffles in, Hardy and Miller following after.

“She said she can’t be in before Monday night,” Miller says, irritation clear on her face. “Said she’s got a full schedule.”

“Yes, she does. Ring her back and tell her that her schedule is full up with getting her arse into my interrogation room and answering every question I can think of.”

“Why don’t you ring her?” Miller asks. “I’ve already spoken to her twice. She won’t hear it from me. But if _you_ call her, she won’t dare try to pull any of her bullshit.”

“Fine,” Hardy says, rolling his eyes. The chair squeaks beneath him as he drops down onto it and snatches up the receiver. He makes an impatient gesture and Miller puts the files on his desk with a self-satisfied smirk. Hardy grumbles, jabbing the number into the keypad. As he dials, Miller slips out of his office with a soft goodbye to Hannah.

The phone trills in his ear a few times before a cheerful voice picks up. “Trader’s Bar and Hotel, how can I help you?”

“Ms Fisher, this is DI Hardy,” he says. Becca audibly groans on the other end. “You see, I heard that your schedule is all full-up today _and_ tomorrow and that you won’t be able to come answer my questions.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Becca says. “Look, Hardy, business has finally been picking up lately, and I’m trying to do damage control on the nightmare that this incident is for PR —”

“ _This incident?_ Are you referring to a woman being attacked and stabbed in your very establishment as a mere _PR nightmare_?”

“That’s not how I meant it,” Becca says. He cuts her off.

“Don’t you think the best thing for business would be for the public to hear that you are complying one hundred per cent with the police in the attempt to apprehend the man who attacked one of your patrons with a deadly weapon? Or do you think it would be better for them to hear that I had to get a subpoena to get you down to my station?”

Becca sighs heavily. After a few moments of silence, she says, “I can be in tomorrow morning, okay?”

“I look forward to it,” Hardy says. He snaps the phone back down into his receiver. Hannah is looking at him with an expression he can’t quite decipher. Well, it’s less that he can’t decipher it and more that he can’t believe it’s directed at him. Her eyes are hooded, a slight flush creeping across her cheeks. Her bottom lip is firmly captured between her teeth.

Hardy shifts in his seat a bit, his trousers suddenly feeling a bit tighter.

“So,” he says. “We’re going to be interviewing people as they come in today. Ideally that’s where I would spend most of the day, but it seems like that won’t be the case. If you need anything at all when I’m not here, though, please don’t hesitate to ask. Constable Luca will be at his desk unless something urgent comes up.”

“He’s on my case too?” Hannah asks. Hardy nods.

“What do you think of him?”

“He’s young but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. His age is a bit of an asset in some ways. He thinks differently than the older officers, so he can make different connections and assumptions that we might have missed.” Hardy says.

“You trust him?”

“I do,” Hardy says with a firm nod. “As much as I trust anyone other than myself to handle this case. Except Miller, of course. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Hannah smiles, seemingly set at ease.

“Your terrible secret is safe with me, DI Hardy,” Hannah says. Hardy chuckles.

“Do you need anything before I head off to this first interview? Should be starting soon.”

“Maybe a cuppa?”

“Coming right up,” Hardy says. He gets up and heads to the kitchen, telling Hannah to make herself comfortable while he’s up.

 

* * *

 

“Mrs… Johnston, thank you for making time for us so promptly this morning,” Hardy says. He clicks his pen and makes a note of the time and Mrs Johnston’s countenance. She’s an older woman with wispy greying hair and anxious fingers.

“Oh, of course,” she says waving a hand through the air. “I heard all about what happened to that poor woman. Not too sure what I’ll be able to do, but I’m more than happy to help however I can, detective. So scary to think that it happened with me right there. And none of us had any clue! It could have happened to any of us. Oh, that poor, unfortunate woman.”

“Now, can you begin by telling us everything about the night of the attack? Everything you can remember that stuck out, no matter how insignificant. Little things can be a big help,” Miller says, pen scratching away at her notepad.

“Well, it was my late night at the Trader’s,” Mrs Johnston begins, hands fluttering all over the place. “I was on until about four in the morning. Not too much to do on the late shift, if I’m honest. I’m mostly there in case of some custodial emergency. Lads getting a bit too drunk in the pub and what have you. Well, I got there around seven and did my usual duties.”

“Did you clean room twelve at all yesterday?” Hardy cuts in. Mrs Johnston shakes her head.

“No, I can get you a list of all the rooms I was set to clean last night. It wasn’t many.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Miller says.

“So, you get on your shift, start doing your work, anything out of the ordinary happen?” Hardy asks.

“It was a pretty quiet night. I guess the strangest thing was when Jamie disappeared,” Mrs Johnston says with a helpless shrug.

“Jamie who?” Hardy asks, sitting forward intently.

“Oh, James Craig.” Her face lights up. “He’s a lovely little lad, been working our kitchens to pay for his mum’s holiday to America. She’s very sick, you see, and she’s always wanted to see the world. When they got her prognosis, Jamie took it upon himself to pick up an extra job so that she could travel before her time is up. Working three jobs these days, he is.”

“And you say he disappeared last night?” Hardy asks. Mrs Johnston nods. “What time?”

“I think I heard chattering about it around nine or so. The other boys in the kitchen were upset because we got a rush in the pub and Jamie wasn’t there to expedite like he should have been.”

“And how long was he gone?” Hardy asks.

“Why, the rest of the night! That’s why it was such a shock. He never did come back. I do hope he doesn’t get the sack for it. He’s normally so reliable.”

“Is James Craig on our list?” Hardy asks Miller. She nods, pointing to his slot on the timetable. He’s scheduled for tomorrow evening.

“How tall is this Mr Craig?” Hardy asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, six feet? A little more? He’s a tall lad, that’s all I really know,” Mrs Johnston says.

Hardy hastily makes note. “And his eye colour?”

“Green, I think?” Mrs Johnston says, confusion in her voice. “You lot don’t think Jamie actually had something to do with this, do you? He’s the sweetest lad I’ve ever met.”

“We can’t rule anyone out at such an early stage,” Hardy responds automatically. “We’ll speak to Mr Craig along with every other employee of the Trader’s, same as we’re speaking with you.”

“Well, if it’s anyone who works for the Trader’s, I’d bet my last dollar that it’s Kade Brown,” Mrs Johnston says. “That man has given me and every other woman at the Trader’s more trouble than everyone else put together.”

“And who is Kade Brown?” Hardy asks, making a new section in his notes.

“He doesn’t technically work for Becca, he’s a delivery truck driver. He’s the one who delivers our orders twice a week. Booze on Friday and food on Wednesday. He friends with a few of the kitchen lads, but most of us can’t stand the sight of him.”

“Does he have access to the actual hotel?” Miller asks. “To the rooms?”

“Well, no, not the way a proper employee does. He mostly stays downstairs around the kitchen.”

“And what do you mean by ‘given you trouble’?” Hardy asks. Mrs Johnston shudders.

“He’s just… inappropriate. Touching girls when he passes by them and making little comments. Even to an old lady like me! More than once Becca has had to call the company and complain about him, but they keep sending him right on back.”

They finish up Mrs Johnston’s interview, chronicling the rest of her night, which was relatively quiet. A few lads down at the pub causing a ruckus, one patron getting sick in his bed. Usual pub fair, she says. Hardy stops by the kitchen to make a couple of mugs of tea before heading back to his office, mind spinning with questions about Craig and Brown.

 

* * *

 

While Hardy had been in his interview, Hannah settled in on his side of the desk, in his chair once again. She watches random YouTube videos on his laptop with her earbuds in. Much sooner than expected, his door swings open. Hannah pauses her video, a drawing tutorial that she’s doodling along with, a smile spreading across her face. When the person behind the door slinks into the office, her smile drops.

“DI Hard —” SOCO Brian cuts himself off, a sly grin overtaking his face when he sees Hannah behind the desk. “Well, what an unexpected pleasure.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Hannah says before she can stop herself.

Brian wanders further into the room and sits in the chair across from her, leaning his elbows on the desk with a peculiar look on his face.

“I was hoping to catch you today. I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you if you need anything,” Brian says.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Hannah says, backing away from him.

“You don’t have to pretend to be strong with me,” Brian says. “I know what you’ve been through must have been scary. If you need someone to look out for you —”

“I’m not pretending,” Hannah growls. “I’m not some fragile little bird that needs looking after.”

“No, no, of course not,” Brian says, in what might be _the_ most patronising tone she’s ever heard. “I only meant, if it gets overwhelming… Well, we all need help now and then, don’t we?”

“Do you seriously think that after being attacked by a strange man, I need _another_ strange man to ‘help’ me?” Hannah asks, truly baffled.

“I’m not some psycho! You can ask anyone here,” Brian splutters.

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you, Mr No-Boundaries. Asked out any married women lately?” Hannah shoots back.

Brian stutters for a moment before recovering himself. “Asking out a married woman is a far cry from attacking someone with a knife!”

“I think it speaks pretty loudly of your character,” Hannah says. Of course she doesn’t believe that having an affair is on the same plane of existence as attacking someone with a deadly weapon, but pursuing women who are clearly uninterested, seeing them as a challenge, that’s a trait Hannah has never found within a truly decent man.

“You clearly aren’t thinking straight,” Brian says with an incredulous chuckle. He fishes something out of his pocket and slides it across to her. “Look, don’t make any rash decisions just now. That’s my number. If you find yourself spooked during the night, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“I think I’d rather take that time to do a little jujutsu practice, but I’ll keep it in mind,” Hannah says. For a brief moment, she imagines slamming SOCO Brian down on the mat and making him tap out. It is, by far, the most palatable part of this entire exchange.

As Brian opens his mouth to respond, the door flies open. Alec is standing behind it, two cups of tea in hand and Hannah has intense déjà vu.

“Brian,” Alec says, his accent thick, R rolling heavily off his tongue. Unlike yesterday, his voice is deathly calm. A shiver runs down Hannah’s spine. It’s getting harder to pretend that she doesn’t want him, especially in moments like this. Protective Alec, as she’s taken to referring to him, sends sizzles through her veins.

Brian jumps up like someone lit his seat on fire. “Are you seriously in my office for the _second day in a row_ , harassing the main witness in my case?”

“I wasn’t hara —”

“Get the hell out of my office and do not let me find you in here again. Next time Ms Baxter might not be kind enough to restrain herself from showing you just how capable she is, and I don’t feel like filling in that report,” Alec says in that same tone. Brian skitters out of the office, muttering darkly beneath his breath.

“I am so sorry about him,” Alec says once he closes the door. “Was he making you uncomfortable?”

For a moment, Hannah considers lying. The deep-seated instinct not to cause a fuss just because a man is trying to stake his claim on her bubbles up.

“Honestly? Yeah,” she says after a beat of silence, wriggling in her chair. The fire blazing behind Alec’s whiskey eyes seems to burn hotter. “He didn’t even knock. Either time, actually. I keep thinking it’s you coming back only for that tosser to come in and try to seduce me.”

“I’ll have another SOCO put on in charge of your case straight away,” he promises, setting a baby blue mug down in front of her. Rather than asking her to move seats, he drags the other chair around to the same side of the desk as hers so that he can sit in front of his desktop.

“Oh, no, I don’t mean to cause trouble,” Hannah says.

“ _You_ are not the one causing trouble, Hannah,” Alec says, looking baffled. “It’s that filthy SOCO with his wandering eyes and inappropriate comments. Trust me, he will not be bothering you anymore. He’ll be given strict orders to keep away from you. And I will enforce them myself if I have to.”

Hannah bites her bottom lip, a strange, quavering sort of gratitude settling over her. At every turn, Alec Hardy does whatever he can to protect her. For a moment, she wonders why it doesn’t feel the same as Brian’s offer of ‘help’. Then Alec speaks again.

“Although, I will miss walking up on you giving him a nice bollocking,” he says, shifting a bit. “I love watching you handle him. Sorry, that’s inappropriate, I don’t want to —”

“No, it isn’t,” Hannah says. “If he didn’t creep me out so much, I’d say I was going to miss it, too. And seeing you make him run off with his tail between his legs.”

Alec snorts, taking a sip of tea. After a moment, a look of concern crosses his face.

“I hope I don’t make you feel… I know you can handle him,” Alec says, clearly grasping for the right words to say. “I know you don’t need me to come in and… You can look after yourself, I know that. I don’t want to make you feel like I think you need someone —”

“Alec, you don’t make me feel weak,” Hannah interrupts. “You’re a good man. I can be… more open with you. You’ve never once made me feel like… like a victim. Like I’m fragile.”

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” Alec says immediately. “I know you’re strong. I know you could probably kick my arse.”

Alec shuffles a little in his seat again and Hannah could swear a flush spreads across his neck. She grins, her tongue poking between her teeth.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Ah, er, uhm,” Alec says. He swallows hard and then meets her eye, cheekiness warring with insecurity. “Y -yeah, maybe.”

Hannah’s breath catches in her chest as her brain flies into overdrive trying to discern whether or not he’s serious. Alec Hardy isn’t exactly known for his sense of humour, after all. There’s unmistakable heat behind his eyes. Her hand hovers over his leg, hesitating. When he licks his bottom lip, her palm falls, pressing against the warmth of his thigh. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows she should pick up her hand and move her chair to the other side of the desk. But the fire in his eyes, the vulnerability there, it cements them together.

How much could it hurt for two friends to share a bit of intimacy? Lord knows they both need it. _When’s the last time he was touched_? The thought sends a flash of white-hot jealousy through her chest. Her nails dig into his thigh and the muscle twitches.

Alec’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. He inches closer, Hannah following his lead until their faces are centimetres apart.

“Hannah,” Alec breathes, eyelids fluttering closed. She takes a shuddering breath, preparing herself to lean in.

A loud knock against Alec’s door jars them apart like they’ve been electrocuted. Before Hannah knows what’s happened, Alec’s chair is a metre away.

“Who is it?” he barks. His voice is gruff, which Hannah can’t help but celebrate.

“C-constable Luca, sir.”

“Come in,” Alec says. Hannah buries her face in her hands, cool palms against burning cheeks. The door swishes open and a jittery curly-haired man steps into the office.

“DS Miller wanted me to come tell you that the next interview will be here in twenty minutes,” Luca says.

“Is that all?” Alec growls. Luca’s eyes widen in fear. “You think that warranted interrupting me?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Alec,” Hannah says reproachfully. He’s is silent for a beat, shooting a look over to Hannah. She raises her eyebrows at him and after a moment, he relents.

“Sorry, Luca,” Alec mutters.

“Ah- ehm, that’s fine, sir,” Luca manages.

“Let Miller know I’ll be ready for the interview whenever the guy gets here,” Alec says, closing the conversation and dismissing Luca with his tone alone. Hannah isn’t sure why, but there’s something sexy about it. She files it away for further examination later.

The door closes once again, plummeting Hannah and Alec into silence. Her entire brain is overtaken by their encounter. The memory of his scent, warm and comforting. The thought of grabbing him by his tie and slamming their lips together. Taking that plump bottom lip of his between her teeth until he’s groaning into their kiss. Mussing up his hair and staining his skin pink with her lipstick. All of the urges she’s been carefully packing away are suddenly blown wide open. No more plausible deniability, Alec wants her the same way she wants him. And it lights her on fire.

Suddenly, Alec turns to her with a furrowed brow. “Are you sure your attacker had blue eyes?”

His face flashes in her mind again, those cold, dead eyes boring into her soul. She shivers. “I’m positive. I don’t think I’ll ever forget them for as long as I live. Why?”

“Just making sure I’ve got all my facts straight,” he murmurs, shaking his head. He scrubs his hands across his face with a heavy sigh. “These buggers are all putting up a real fuss about having to come answer my questions. Sets me on edge, it does.”

Almost absentmindedly, Hannah’s hand lands on his shoulder, kneading the tense muscle there. By the time it clicks in her mind that he might not want her to touch him this way, he’s already melted into her hand.

“You’ll get him, I know you will,” Hannah says. It’s never once crossed her mind that Alec would fail in his attempt to catch the guy.

“There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll catch the bastard,” Alec says. That familiar heat bubbles up in Hannah’s belly again. God, she’s got to get this under control. She figures that would be an easier task if she had any _actual_ desire to do so. “And soon. That’s why I have to get all of these tossers in here as soon as possible. We need a _direction_. Right now we’re just… wandering. Blind. Hoping for a break. I don’t like that.”

After a moment of hesitation, Hannah gets up to stand behind him, kneading both of his shoulders. He tenses for a split second before his head drops forward to give her access to his neck. Tension fills the air, somehow both delicious and terrifying.  She works at the knots in his muscles, paying particular attention to a tough one at the join of his right shoulder and his neck.

“There is no one else that I trust more with this case than you, Alec Hardy,” Hannah murmurs. He makes a weak sound in the back of his throat, a soft kind of keening that sets Hannah’s heart ablaze. Instantly she wants to make that noise happen again and again. She imagines it coming from him as she trails her tongue down his chest, making him quiver beneath her. She keeps up her ministrations for a few more minutes until his head is practically lulling against his chest. When she releases him, he clears his throat, lifting his head.

“I’ve, ehm, gotta go get the interrogation room ready,” Alec says, his voice breaking the soft silence around them. “And I need to badger Luca about getting that CCTV ready for me.”

“‘Course,” Hannah says.

“I don’t think it’ll be a very late night here,” he says. “Like I said, only one more interview and we’re still waiting on SOCO results. Hopefully Luca will be done with the footage by the morning.”

“Sounds good.” Hannah bites her bottom lip. “Don’t worry about me if it does run late, though. I don’t mind hanging around here.”

“I was thinking we could eat together,” Alec says. “Dinner. Tonight. Is that okay?”

“That’s great,” Hannah says. She had assumed they would eat together since they were staying in the same house. The anxiety in Alec’s voice makes her wonder whether he’s asking her something else.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll cook something. D’you like pasta?”

“Who doesn’t like pasta?” Hannah says. Alec chuckles.

“I’ll see you after the interview, then,” he says.

* * *

 

The next interview is less fruitful than the previous one, which is saying something. The second custodian comes in and gives a full account of his night, corroborating Mrs Johnston’s story about James Craig. Alec is itching to get that guy in the seat. According to Luca, CCTV will be ready by the morning, which should give them some real idea as to where Craig disappeared to. Jude Clark, the custodian, was on his break during Hannah’s attack, so he hasn’t got any useful information. Hardy plans to corroborate his story against the CCTV, but nothing about the housekeeper sets off any alarm bells in Hardy’s mind.

“What do you think of his story?” he asks Miller on the way back to his office.

“Pretty unhelpful,” Miller says, sounding as frustrated as he feels. “Don’t think he’s lying about not knowing anything, though. It’ll be easy for us to see whether he was actually in the breakroom or not, after all.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hardy says. “Is that really the last one we could get in for today?”

“Yep, the next interview isn’t until tomorrow morning, unless someone calls up to reschedule,” Miller says.

“I don’t like sitting around waiting for the evidence to come to us,” he mutters.

 

* * *

 

Much of his time after the interviews is spent poring over reports of suspicious behaviour from other pubs and hotels within a fifty-kilometre radius. Nothing too helpful or striking pops up, unfortunately. Nothing even truly suspicious. Most of it is lads getting too rowdy and causing disturbances or couples rowing in lobbies.

The only thing that makes it tolerable is Hannah’s frequent little giggles at whatever it is she’s watching on his laptop. Now and then, she nudges his shoulder and shows him the sketches she’s doodling in her notebook. She goes quiet for a long while, no skipping videos or sharing drawings. After about an hour, the sound of ripping paper breaks the silence. Hardy looks up from his report, wondering whether she’s upset with what she’s drawn.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she slides the paper over to him without meeting his eye. He flips the sheet over and his jaw drops. It’s a pencil sketch of a man lost deep in thought. Brows heavy and low over his eyes, bottom lip jutting out, hair mussed from running his fingers through it. It’s soft, fuzzy edges sketched with care. It’s _him._ Those are his eyes, that’s his chin. His slightly wonky ear that he’s always hated. How did she manage to make it look… pretty?

“Is –”

“It’s you,” Hannah says, keeping him from asking a stupid question.

“Is this how I look to you?” he breathes.

“Well, I’m no photorealist,” she says with a jerky shrug. “You’re much prettier in real life, but I think I did an okay –”

“You did a _great_ job,” he interrupts, trying to drive out any insecurity. “I didn’t ask because it isn’t true to life, I only asked because… it’s beautiful.”

Suddenly _you’re much prettier in real life_ is bouncing around his skull, filling his chest with fuzzy warmth. He spares a thought that maybe he should be embarrassed to be called pretty, but it’s clear that Hannah doesn’t mind him not being some hulking manly man.

“Can I keep this?” he asks.

“’Course you can,” she says, a sweet, shy smile blossoming on her face. “I drew it for you.”

* * *

 

An hour or so before it’s time for Hardy to clock out, he and Miller are summoned to the Chief Superintendent’s office for a meeting about the proceedings of their case. It’s dry; there isn’t much to report. Hardy and Miller do their best to persuade Jenkinson that they need more resources, to no avail. Hardy and Miller stop by the interrogation room to grab the day’s tapes and pick everything up for the night.

“Okay, Hannah and I are – I’m going to bring Hannah home,” Hardy tells Miller, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Not a lie, technically.

“How’s she doing?” Miller asks, that familiar burning compassion in her eyes.

“I think she’s okay,” Hardy says. “I mean, she’s scared. Who wouldn’t be? But I think somehow being around… around the station has been helpful. She feels safer here with — with us.”

“But now she’s got to go to that hotel room all by herself. Do you think she’ll be okay?” Miller asks. She shakes her head absentmindedly. “Now that we think it was a targeted attack, I just don’t feel right about leaving her all alone.”

Hardy shifts his bag on his shoulder, wondering whether to tell Miller the truth. He doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about the two of them, but if he trusts anyone in this office it’s Miller. Something about the look in SOCO Brian’s eye has him on edge even though his relationship with Hannah has been perfectly innocent. Heat flashes across his body as he remembers the encounter in his office, her breath against his face, the look in her eyes. He shakes his head.

“No, that’s it,” Miller says. “I’m going to have her stay with me and the boys. We have an extra room and that way we’ll know she’s safe.”

“Ah, Miller, no,” Hardy grunts.

“Don’t you tell me that it’s inappropriate, Hardy! I thought you of all people would be on board with this. She _needs_ someone. She’s here all by herself, no family, no friends besides us, and she’s got to be terrified. And d’you know what? If the brass doesn’t want me doing things like this, then they should give us the funding and resources that we need. If we could have men stationed outside of her hotel room, then I wouldn’t have to —”

“Miller!” Hardy cuts her off. He knows this mood. She won’t be stirred. Won’t take no for an answer (unless she felt like Hannah herself were uncomfortable, of course). “That won’t be… necessary.”

“Oh, bugger off, Hardy,” Miller growls, gearing up for a rant pointed squarely at Hardy’s chest. He holds up a hand, gesturing her into his office with a look that says _shut up before you get us both fired_. She clamps her jaw shut and stalks into his office.

Hannah smiles at them as they enter. He returns it easily, natural as taking his next breath. Miller’s eyes narrow and the smile drops from his face.

“It won’t be necessary for Hannah to stay at your house because she’s staying at mine,” he says, walking as casually as he can around the desk to finish packing up everything for the day.

“She’s what?” Miller says, looking back and forth between them. Hardy does his best to ignore her shock, focusing instead on wrapping up his laptop cord while Hannah packs the computer into the bag still slung over his shoulder.

“She’s staying at my house,” Hardy repeats. Hannah takes the cord and packs it into the bag as well. “Has been since last night.”

“Are — are you two —”

“Nothing is happening between us,” Hannah says instantly. “I got scared in my hotel room last night and I called Alec. He let me come stay at his house so that I wouldn’t be all alone. That’s it.”

“Well, if you want, you could come stay at my house tonight,” Miller offers. “I have a guest room so you wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Hannah and Hardy speak at the same time.

“I mean, all of my stuff is at his house —”

“She’s not sleeping on the couch, Miller —”

“It would be such a hassle to move everything _again_ —”

“D’you honestly think I’d make her sleep on the couch —”

Miller cuts them off with a snort. “Okay, okay. No more offers of housing from me.”

“I really appreciate it, Ellie,” Hannah says, her cheeks pink.

“You’re welcome at mine any time, Hannah,” Miller says. “But don’t worry, I won’t ask again. And I won’t tell anyone.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Hardy says. “They don’t need to know because nothing is happening. And like you said, they should fund us properly if they don’t want us to take witness protection into our own hands.”

“‘Course, Hardy,” Miller says.

* * *

 

Once they get back home and settled in, Hardy sets to work in the kitchen. Before long, Hannah joins him. Their voices and clanging pots and pans fill the kitchen, warming Hardy’s heart. They have dinner, spaghetti and homemade meatballs with garlic bread, dished up before long.

“D’you want to sit at the table or on the couch?” Hardy asks, holding their plates. Hannah grabs their glasses of wine and considers for a moment.

“If we sit on the couch, we can watch more _Bake Off_ ,” Hannah murmurs.

“You haven’t had enough TV after today?” Hardy teases, already heading for the couch. “I think you used up the rest of the station’s bandwidth for the month.”

“Maybe I just think that _you_ need a little more telly relaxation in your life, ever think about that?” Hannah says. “Anyway, it’s bread week next and bread week is always the one where Paul is the most tyrannical.”

“I have to admit,” Hardy says, settling in on the couch, “I’m enjoying it rather more than I would have expected.”

Hannah sits next to him, their thighs pressed together. She takes her plate and hands him his wine. “You just needed someone to show you how to relax.”

“A certain someone, maybe,” Hardy says, emboldened by the heat of her leg against his. Hannah gives him that smile, the one with her tongue poking between her teeth, and he wants to lean over and kiss her right then. He busies his hands and his mouth by twirling a bite of pasta onto his fork and shoving it into his mouth.

Hannah makes an appreciative noise around her bite. She covers her mouth to speak. “This is so good, Alec! Who knew a hardboiled copper such as yourself could cook like this?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Hardy says, chuckling. “This is pretty much the only thing I know how to cook.”

“Well, with skill like this, I’m sure you could learn other stuff if you wanted,” Hannah says, bumping his shoulder with hers.

“Probably could if I took the time,” Hardy admits. “I enjoy cooking. It’s nice to… make something that the people you love can gather around and enjoy together.”

A soft look melts onto Hannah’s face. “Yeah. It is, isn’t it?”

Hardy flicks on the TV and brings up their latest episode of _Bake Off_ , comfortable silence settling over the two of them.

* * *

 

After dinner, they do the washing up and return to the couch for another couple episodes. Without their plates in the way, Hannah settles properly against his side. He’s contemplating putting an arm around her shoulders when Hannah speaks.

“Alec, can I ask you a personal question?” she asks. He turns his head slightly. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip.

“Of course,” he says.

“What made you decide you were done with romance?”

His heart stops in his chest for a moment. Does she really want to hear about what a disappointing husband he was? What a failure he was in his own marriage? He contemplates deflecting the question but doesn’t for a moment consider lying to her.

“I was married. To my daughter’s mother. I thought she was the love of my life. Thought I was done searching for my other half, all that stuff. We were both cops. I was her boss, actually. We’d been married for thirteen years. I’ve always been committed to my job. I think the only way to be a half-decent detective is to give all of yourself to the case, to the families who need you. Well, after a time she said that I worked too much, didn’t give her the attention she needed. I’m not saying she was wrong; I’m just saying that there wasn’t some big change in me. I was who I always was, but then she resented the way I get so lost in my work. I’m sure you’ve heard all about how I bungled up the Sandbrook investigation?”

“I heard the original story that blamed you and then I read the truth. That it wasn’t your fault at all. That it was your detective who didn’t protect the evidence the way they should have. I can’t believe how long you took the heat for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“That case was… particularly horrifying, even for my work. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so lost in an investigation as I was then. The detective who ruined the case… was my wife,” Hardy admits. “She stopped to have a drink and… celebrate with her lover. Her car got broken into and that was that. Our case was destroyed. Along with my marriage. I had known for a while that she was seeing someone else. The way you pretend you have no clue. But this… there was no hiding from this. This was terrible. This was career-destroying, life-destroying.”

“You took the blame so that your wife would be protected,” Hannah says. It isn’t a question. Hardy cringes.

“I didn’t want my daughter to know what her mother had done,” Hardy says. “I was protecting Daisy.”

“And the woman who you still loved, despite what she’d done to you,” Hannah whispers. It’s soft, there’s no judgement whatsoever in her voice. He’s still afraid to meet her eye, to see what he always sees when someone finds out how long he held a candle for a woman who left him in the dust and took his professional reputation in one fell swoop. The pity. The eyes that say _how could you respect yourself so little?_

Hannah’s hand lands softly on his cheek and turns his face towards hers. The heart-aching compassion in her eyes sears into his chest. “You’re a good man, Alec Hardy.”

He can’t hold back a humourless snort. Her hand slides from his cheek to the back of his head, fingers burying in the short hairs there. “You are.”

There are a few beats of silence. Alec relishes her fingers gripping his hair, her breath against his cheek. He longs to press his forehead against hers and bask in the contact.

“Do you still love her?” Hannah asks. Alec’s eyes shoot open. _When had they closed?_

“No, I don’t,” he says with complete confidence. “We… tried making it work. After Danny Latimer and closing the Sandbrook case. It didn’t. I’m still me. Still the man she fell out of love with, I haven’t changed that much. It helped me realise what I should have seen ages ago, that we just don’t work. I’ll be grateful for our relationship forever because it gave me my daughter, but we’ve been through for years.”

Hannah visibly lets go of a breath and lets her forehead fall against his. Alec shifts closer, edging his jaw forward until their lips are a whisper apart. They hold there for an eternity, skirting the edge of a chasm that he didn’t think he’d ever want to plunge into again. He’s staring over the cliffside, the waves battering against the rock, calling to him. Begging him to jump and deal with the repercussions when they come.

He isn’t sure which one of them makes the move in the end. One moment, they’re on the edge, the space between them seemingly insurmountable. The next, their lips crash together, hers soft and supple against his. She takes his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging on it, nipping at it, pulling the most embarrassing sound straight from the depths of his soul. A soft keening that he would deny his body could even make if anyone other than Hannah asked. The noise seems to spur her on, the fingers in his hair tightening as she laves her tongue over his lip. Alec deepens the kiss, contemplating whether to drag her onto his lap or not. Before he can make a decision, Hannah rips her lips away from his with an obscene ‘smack’.

“I… need to tell you why I swore off romance,” she pants. The flush in her cheeks is one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever seen.

“I — I was going to ask,” he stutters, feeling rude all of a sudden. “Got a little distracted, sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Alec,” Hannah says with a breathless chuckle. The fear lurking behind her eyes makes his stomach sink. What could be so bad that she’d need to stop mid-snog to tell him?

“I haven’t always been a writer,” she begins. Her hand slips from his hair down to his collar, fingertips playing with the edge of it. “My last job was… difficult for any of my boyfriends to handle. Impossible, really. Can’t say I blame them, honestly. I understand it. I don’t do that work anymore, but it’s a huge part of my life and who I am and it would be wrong for me to hide it from you if we’re going to… Well, whatever we’re doing here. I want you to know the real me. And if you don’t want _this_ with me anymore, I understand, I do. You don’t have to feel guilty or anything like that —”

Alec shushes her, carding his fingers through her hair. She’s just on the verge of hyperventilating. His heart threatens to pound out of his chest, but he keeps his cool for her.

“Take a breath, darling. Take your time. Nothing you say is going to make me run out the door. Breathe.”

She follows his advice, taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds. Once she blows it out, she seems a smidge calmer.

“I used to be a sex worker,” she admits in a rush.

Alec is taken aback, just a little. Shock more than anything, really. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. He’d been worried she was a hitman or something. In the few beats it takes for him to formulate a response, Hannah speaks up again.

“A prostitute. I had sex with people for money,” she says. Panic is quickly welling up in her eyes again. Alec smooths his fingers through her hair again.

“I know what a sex worker does, Hannah,” he says. “I wasn’t… I was just trying to process it, that’s all. Trying to figure out how to politely tell you that I don’t care.”

“You don’t… care?”

“I’ll admit that I’m a jealous man,” he says. “I don’t know if I could have handled being with you when you were doing that work. But there’s no part of me that thinks it makes you… any less than you are. You’re brilliant and kind and beautiful and warm. Having a lot of sex doesn’t change that, regardless of whether money exchanged hands. What happens between two consenting adults is, well, nobody’s business except for those adults.”

“You’re a cop,” she says, sounding dumbfounded.

“I know that I’m a cop,” he says, laughing. “Sometimes the law… Life isn’t so black and white as some people think, is it? Like I said, as long as nobody was being hurt, why should anyone judge what happens in your bedroom?”

“Alec Hardy, you are a good man,” Hannah murmurs. The next thing he knows, their lips are crashing back together, tongues meeting, teasing one another. He takes the opportunity to nibble on her bottom lip for a change. He does drag her onto his lap at this point. She settles against him, pressing their chests together and giving his hair a delicious tug. He deepens the kiss, running his hands down the curve of her back, hesitating at the hem of her shirt. When his fingertips slip beneath it to _just_ press against her heated skin, Hannah groans, shifting in his lap. He takes it as permission, sliding his hands up under her shirt, relishing her smooth skin against his.

Hannah tugs at his tie, pulling it loose and tossing it behind her. He’s forced to remove his palms from her back so that he can shrug out of his jacket and hastily undo his button-up. He’s left in just his t-shirt, which Hannah pushes up his belly with one hand, resting her palm flat against his thudding heart. She stops there, seemingly content for them to keep their clothes on and continue as they had been. Alec’s hands slide back beneath her shirt with great enthusiasm as Hannah trails a line of kisses from his throat to his jaw, peppering them indiscriminately. When their mouths are level once more, Alec sucks her bottom lip between his, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, nipping at it until she’s raking her nails against his chest. His hands slide down to cup her bum, pulling her more firmly against him. She smiles against his kiss, arching her back.

They stay that way for a while, languidly snogging on his couch like a couple of teenagers until the clock above his mantle tolls midnight. With great regret, pulls back. He can’t keep himself from dropping two little pecks against her mouth before he speaks. “It’s pretty late, we should be getting to bed.”

Hannah sighs, resting her forehead against his. “I guess you’re right. I’m sure you have an early morning.”

He doesn’t even attempt to resist kissing her again, a soft, slow press of the lips that lasts long enough to leave him dizzy.

“Keep that up, Hardy, and we won’t be getting rest any time soon,” she whispers, close enough that her lips brush against his when she speaks. He laughs, dragging himself up off the sofa and offering her his hand. She grabs it, lacing their fingers together and allowing him to pull her up.

Once they’ve both finished their night-time routines, they settle into bed. Alec gets under the duvet on his side of the bed, leaving a good few inches of space between the two of them.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Hannah asks, grinning. Alec chuckles, shrugging a little.

“Didn’t want to presume?” he offers.

“Alec Hardy, you can feel free to always presume I want a cuddle from you,” she replies. Warmth blooms in his chest as Hannah shuffles over and snuggles into his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and drops a kiss on the crown of her head, pressing his nose into her hair.

“Goodnight, darling,” he whispers.

“G’night, Alec.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes up before Hannah again the next morning. She’s draped across his body, head on his chest, legs twined together. He smiles, letting himself enjoy the moment for a little while longer. Eventually, she begins to stir, though her eyes stay closed tight.

“S’it time to get up yet?” she croaks, voice gruff with disuse. He kisses her eyelids.

“Just about,” he says. She groans, snuggling tighter against him.

“C’mon,” he cajoles. “I’ll make you a coffee if you wake up.”

One eyelid peeks open, a smile tugging at her mouth. “And some oatmeal?”

Alec laughs, soft in the quiet morning. Hannah smiles openly, nudging him.

“And some oatmeal,” he vows.

 

* * *

                                                                                          

After breakfast, they drive back to the station. While he gets his files together for the day’s interviews, Hannah heads to the kitchen to make them a round of tea. The door to his office opens and a smile inches across his face, though he doesn’t look up from the notepad he’s scribbling on.

“Why have you taken me off the case?”

His head snaps up at the unfriendly voice. “SOCO Brian, since when do you enter my office without so much as a knock? From what I hear you’re doing that quite a lot.”

“Why have you taken me off the Baxter case?” he repeats, stalking closer to Hardy’s desk.

“Because you don’t know how to behave yourself around witnesses,” Hardy says. “Or your supervisors, it seems. Now, exit my office while you still have a job here.”

“Did Hannah —”

“Ms Baxter,” Hardy corrects.

“Did she complain about me?” he asks. “I have a right to know.”

“SOCO Brian, I am warning you,” Hardy begins.

“She didn’t, did she? You’re just jealous. Worried that I’ll swoop in and steal your girlfriend out from under you.”

Hardy stands up, knocking his chair backwards in his haste. “Get out of my office. This is the last time I’ll tell you. If I hear a word of this going around my station, you’ll never work as a SOCO again in your life.”

“You do realise that you aren’t allowed to screw the victim in your very own case, don’t you? You’re the boss. It’s an abuse of power.”

“There is _nothing_ happening between Ms Baxter and myself. Stay away from her and every other female witness who comes through this station. You’ve clearly no clue how to interact with women. Frankly, you’re lucky that this kind of behaviour hasn’t gotten you the sack —”

“Y’know, I believe you.” Brian talks over him. “I don’t think anything is happening between the two of you. Not because you don’t want it. Because she’s too gorgeous to even look in your direction, shitface. Even still, if I see one _hint_ that you’re trying to get her into bed, I’m going straight to the superintendent. You’ll be out on your arse before you can blink, _sir._ ”

The door opens behind him to reveal Hannah, balancing two mugs of tea and a packet of biscuits in one arm.

“Ah, excuse me, Ms Baxter,” Brian says, stepping around her. “I was just leaving. Got a new case to get started on.”

The door closes softly behind him, leaving the two of them in silence.


End file.
